


Heal

by cheryl_land337



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Because the series goes to shit, Blood Sharing, Canonical Character Death, Communication, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I prefer my characters well rounded and actually likeable, M/M, Mild Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Post-QotD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Useless Vampires, implied Armand/Marius, implied Jesse/Gabrielle, vampires can fuck, yeah i changed the rating ahah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheryl_land337/pseuds/cheryl_land337
Summary: A series of Loustat one-shots that take place after the events of Queen Of The Damned. Starting with Louis and Lestat finally talking about their long, rocky relationship, on to film critique, comedy clubs, interior design, Lestat writing the rest of the VC novels as a sort of irl fanfic, and healthily coping with PTSD. An alternate title for this work could also be “Louis And Lestat Talk About Their Feelings And Cry Like Little Babies”. This is my first story on Ao3, so please enjoy!





	1. It’s Only An Island If You Look At It From The Water

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you are enjoying it so far! I have way too much time on my hands so updates will be pretty frequent. I want to credit @Linxcat on AO3 since I took some inspiration from the VC headcanons they made. Ugh I can’t get enough of these cold boys.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis, unable to find Lestat in the villa on Night Island, searches for him on the beach. He finally finds him, who confesses he’s had a lot on his mind.

“Go ahead, you two. I’m alright,” Louis told them, “I’m going to go see if I can find him, that little brat.”

Armand shrugged and murmured a variant of “alright” while Gabrielle simply smiled. Louis bade them farewell as they went off on their way, and he on his.

Louis knew he had absolutely no way of knowing where Lestat was, him being his maker, and that he was less powerful than every other vampire he knew. But tonight was warm and silent. Lestat hated silence. Louis decided to walk towards the shoreline.

There were still a few dull red streaks in the sky, remnants of an unattainable sunset, when Louis took off his shoes to walk in the sand. There was one couple, a man and a woman, walking away from the waves, towels and chairs in hands. Everyone had left, save one figure that Louis saw sitting by the water.

Lestat was sitting remarkably still, his hair swept behind him in the breeze. Louis approached him slowly, “Lestat?” He asked.

The blond curls whipped around as Lestat turned to face him, giving a sharp inhale. His face relaxed into an expression of annoyance, “Don’t startle me like that,” he turned his gaze back towards the ocean, “I’ve never heard you walk so quietly.”

Louis smiled and sat down beside him, “Ah, I’m sorry, mon coeur.” He smelt the salty clearness of the water, and looked into the fading gray of the sky. After a pause that was uncharacteristic of Lestat, Louis gently asked, “Armand and Gabrielle are out hunting, don’t you want to join them?”

“You know I don’t need to hunt,” Lestat said, with a relaxed, neutral tone.

“But you still do, Lestat, much to my dismay,” Louis joked.

“Not tonight, though.” Lestat closed his eyes, as if trying to recall a dream or distant memory.

“Are you alright, darling?” Louis’ concern grew, “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I’m fine, Louis, I am,” Lestat flashed a genuine smile and looked over to Louis, who inched slightly closer, “I think, I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Louis hummed a tone of acceptance as he looked back to the ocean, enjoying its hypnotic sound.

A few minutes passed when Lestat spoke again, “I haven’t been tired since I was mortal,” there was a twinge of fear in his voice, one Louis had never heard before, “Its so hard to fight, Louis.”

“Fight what?” Louis took Lestat’s sandy hand.

Lestat did not answer for a few moments.

“I’m sorry.”

Louis was taken aback, “Sorry? Sorry for what? You’ve never been sorry as long as I’ve known you. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done with passion. You refuse to regret anything. Why are you sorry now? What could you possibly regret?”

“EVERYTHING! Everything I’ve done since the moment I died! I left everyone of my family, everyone I loved! Everything I did was selfish, especially with you! I didn’t even give you a chance—“

“I chose to be with you—“

“Don’t pretend, Louis, please. You and I both know I never gave you any real choice. I fell in love with you and what did I do? I only thought of what I wanted. I was so selfish, Louis.

“And Claudia, I think about her every waking moment. She is in my dreams the moment I close my eyes. I see her in every little girl holding her mother’s hand. She was such a precious, delicate thing. She made me forget, for almost seven euphoric decades! She made me forget how selfish I really was to her. I loved her with all my heart and soul. And she hated us! She hated me! I couldn’t bear it so what did I do!? I condemned her to death, Louis! I stupidly believed that my broken heart could be mended by being as I always have been: impulsive, arrogant, vain, and selfish, selfish, selfish. I can’t keep fooling myself, I can’t mask my own failure and evil with more failure and evil.

“So yes, all I can be is sorry. I carved away every part of my being that held gentleness, sincerity, silence. I am a husk, and that’s who I have only ever been since I was born to darkness. I regret everything. Everything.” Lestat paused, then spoke in a lower, terrified voice, “I...I don’t know what to do, Louis. For the first time in my life...I have never been so, so empty.”

Louis hadn’t seen this side of Lestat since 1929 in his crumbling Garden District house. The year Lestat had gone underground for over 40 years. An unexplainable wave of anger came over Louis, the first he’d felt in a long time.

Louis felt the tears coming up. He pushed them down, “Have you ever considered for one minute of your miserable existence that you aren’t alone, Lestat? How dare you say you regret everything? You would rob me of your most precious gift to me? Take that girl back to her dead mother to die of starvation? Claudia was our biggest mistake, but she was my greatest joy. You would leave me? To wander Louisiana half-drunk for another two years perhaps until I finally met my end in an accident or murder?

“You make me dizzy with how utterly stupid you are. You are surrounded by people who love you! Do you know why they stay? They love you, Lestat! Believe me, you were difficult to live with. You were selfish and infuriating. But I loved you! God knows I still do! I would go to sleep ready to murder you and when I awoke I saw your eyes and my head melted to nothing. You were the first person, and the only person, to make me feel this way! To give me a family! It was little, and it was broken, but it was still good, wasn’t it? How can you say things like that when you aren’t even aware of the idea that we are still here with you!

“Have you ever thought of asking me? Before spewing all this bullshit about regret and misery? Because have you even considered that I might know a thing or two about your pain? Do you not know how Claudia took my heart and shattered it beyond repair? She destroyed me too! Have you ever considered that you are not alone with your pain!?

“Have you ever considered the fact that you don’t have to be so strong all the time?”

“What?”

“You think you have to be this untouchable star that everyone looks to for inspiration and security. But you’re no different from the rest of us. You and I bear so many of the same burdens but you force yourself to carry it alone.”

Louis’ anger was giving way to a softer feeling, a more familiar feeling, “Don’t regret anything that you’ve done. Even the selfish things. They’ve all brought you to where you are now. I want you here with me. I want you to stay and laugh and sing and dance with me. I want to put our pictures up, instead of hiding them away. I want you to tear down the wall you’ve built so high, Lestat. Let us help you.

“Let me help you.”

“I...I don’t—“

“Let me be strong now, please. You can trust me, now. You can rest and be happy. I forgive you, Lestat.

“ _I forgive you._ ”

Lestat was staring at him. Then he began to sob. His face contorted and his eyes closed as blood gushed freely from them. Louis reached out and pulled him to his breast, feeling the warm blood soak into his shirt. Louis felt the tears in his own eyes, and he let them fall as Lestat gasped into his chest. Louis had been wondering when Lestat would finally break down. A life like his is not bound to last without consequences. He smiled silently, through his steady stream of tears.

Lestat cried and cried for five minutes. When he finally lifted his head from Louis’ arms, he was still gasping as if he had hiccups.

Then Lestat saw the tears in Louis’ own eyes, “Louis, oh darling. What’s the matter?”

“To be honest, you were scaring me. You frightened me half to death with that little speech of yours. I was afraid you would leave again, or worse.”

“I frightened you? Oh god, Louis, I’m so sorry. I beg you, don’t be scared. I won’t do anything like that, not to you.”

“Well if you were, then I would have no choice but to go with you, you bastard.”

“Did I make a fool of myself?”

“Yes. But we all have. You just managed to hold it off for 200 years.”

“I suppose something like this was bound to happen, huh.”

“Don’t dwell on it, darling, please. You’ve already laid bare everything when writing your autobiography. You’ve proven your sincerity, and now there’s no need to apologize anymore. I don’t hold anything against you. We’re too old to play games with each other anymore.”

Louis cradled Lestat’s bloodstained face in his sandy, bloodstained hands. He gently pressed his lips to his forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips.

“You smell good.” Louis whispered against his lips, making Lestat giggle a bit.

“Sounds like a lovely night for a swim.”

“Mmm. I would like that.”

They quickly stripped naked after checking to see if anyone was around, then bolted into the water, shrieking with laughter. They rubbed the blood from each other’s cheeks, noses, and hands.

Louis saw the Lestat that most fascinated him. He saw him as he was, singing  _tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow_ , walking through the cramped streets of New Orleans. The salt water ran down his pearly chest and back. Carefree, arrogant, annoying Lestat. But he was free. Freer than he ever was, even when reciting Macbeth, dressed in green velvet. Louis, embarrassed at how much he had cried already, began to weep again, and embraced Lestat, telling him he loved him. Please don’t let this be a dream, he prayed. Tell me this won’t end.

They splashed, swam, touched, and floated until an hour before dawn. Louis was very tired and hungry, but he refused to feed, not after this. He watched Lestat wring out his long, ashen hair, tamed by the weight of the water. This was obvious flirtation, Louis knew, and he let it work.

“Put your clothes back on, they’re probably wondering where we are.”

“Mm.”

Lestat looked sleepy, happy. Louis put his own pants back on and took Lestat’s hand, holding the rest of his clothes in the other.

“Oh, Louis, you’re so gaunt! Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t fed?”

“What? Oh, well, yes, but I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry.”

“But you can’t go hungry, darling! Are you sure you won’t eat?”

“I don’t feel like eating, not after all the fun we’ve had.”

Lestat stood still for a moment, then walked to him and put his hand under Louis’ chin, “Drink from me, then.” He whispered in his ear.

“I—“

“...Please?”

Louis could feel the smile against his ear, and he could hear that delicious sound of Lestat’s heartbeat and could not resist. He put his hand on the back of Lestat’s head and guided it back to reveal his long, white neck. His other arm wrapped around Lestat’s waist, gripping his bare skin. He sank his teeth into Lestat’s flesh and heard him sigh and moan as his blood flowed out of him. Akasha’s blood was so full and sweet and lush that Louis’ knees almost gave. They both sank to the sand, Lestat gripping Louis’ bare back, pulling his hair, which he of all people knew Louis could not get enough of. Louis cradled him, mouth still attached to his throat.

When his thirst was more than quenched he forced himself from Lestat’s skin, desiring much more but fearing that he may endanger his yellow-haired devil. Lestat whispered Louis’ name and kissed him deeply. They slowly stood and moved quickly back to the villa, glancing at each other every once in a while.

When they returned, Louis felt himself start to slip into sleep. He kissed Lestat briefly before stumbling up the stairs, barely noticing the equally tired vampires shuffling to their own resting places. He did not hear Lestat follow him until he stepped into his coffin.

“Let me in.”

Louis almost refused out of habit. He remembered his first time in a coffin. Lestat’s steady breathing beneath him. The fear, fading to nothing. Louis agreed, and Lestat rested on top of him, asleep once his body touched Louis’. His icy fingers tickled his collar bone. His damp hair clung to his chest. Louis’ eyes closed anyway, and he dreamed of New Orleans in 1803.

Claudia was still a child in her body. Lestat was singing in the midnight air. For the first time in his dreams, Louis could embrace them. He could kiss them. Claudia sang lullabies her fathers had taught her as she played with her dolls. Lestat danced with Louis as they hummed a made-up tune.

And then he was awake. Lestat was still asleep on top of him. He poked his head up suddenly.

“Hey, you’re finally awake! I didn’t want to get up until you did, so tada! Here I am!”

Lestat could not understand why Louis began to cry at his remarks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these two and every other vampire in Miami probably don’t sleep in coffins anymore but just humor me, okay? It will come into play later.


	2. Golden Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Lestat watch a movie together and surprise each other with how much they like to discuss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For translations of French words/phrases, see the Author’s Note at the end of the chapter.

“Ugh, that book is terrible. Of course _you_ would  read it.”

Louis did not look up at Lestat’s remark, and only said, “I don’t care what you think about it, ma chere, now please be quiet.”

“Can you at least move over?”

“Ah, yes, to crowd me mercilessly and constantly fidget, that would be wonderful, but not today.”

Anyone else would have just sighed and given up, but Louis realized all too late that dignifying Lestat with a response to anything he said would doom his poor victim. He could smell Lestat’s smirk.

“Oh, are you scared, my dear?” He sneered, “Afraid I’m going to cop a feel, as they say?”

“I never said that.”

“Aw, Louis’ shy? Well you may have been at first but with some encouraging I would say you ‘came out on top—’”

“Lestat...” Louis was having a hard time focusing on the words on the page.

A sigh from Lestat, then the sound of bare feet padding away from the sofa where Louis read. He exhaled, beginning to relax again.

Louis had barely heard the rapid footsteps coming toward him moments later when his head was yanked back slightly, a lock of his hair in Lestat’s hands.

“MERDE!” Louis shouted. When his hair was released he shut his book and whipped up to face him. “Je jure devant Dieu, Lestat—“

Lestat beamed and embraced Louis, giggling, “Oh, I was only teasing you, love! Surely you mustn’t be angry with me?”

Louis was very angry, and glared at him as he spoke.

“I was just a little lonely, that’s all,” Lestat ran his fingers up Louis’ neck to his cheek, and Louis did not know why he allowed it.

“I just wanted you to pay attention to me, and now you are! Oh Louis, you still love me, don’t you? Tell me you love me, Louis!”

Lestat pouted slightly, and tilted his head to the side.

Louis’ glare softened, as it always did. He sighed and rolled his eyes, like usual. “Yes, yes, I still love you, Lestat,” he said and kissed his nose, as he had a million times before.

Lestat, satisfied finally, skipped over to the sofa, flopping down and patting the area next to him for Louis to sit. Louis obliged, asking, “So what was so important that you needed my attention for?”

“Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to play with you a bit.”

“Go figure.”

“Well, but now that you’re here with me, would you like to watch a movie with me? HBO is showing 2001: A Space Odyssey in a few minutes and Marius told me it was very good. Have you seen it?”

“Actually yes, I have. I saw it in the cinema when it was released. I will say I liked it very much, especially the end.”

“You did? Well I suppose you’re going to see it again!” Lestat turned on the television opposite the sofa and switched it to HBO. An advertisement for a car was playing.

“I suppose I am,” mused Louis, mostly to himself, with a smile.

Louis had forgotten how long the film really was, and was glad he had eaten before Lestat’s little interference. Once the film approached its famous ending, however, he made sure to focus on the screen, not wanting to miss anything. Lestat had chattered a little throughout the film, unable to keep his thoughts in his head, but now Louis heard nothing but his speeding heart rate. Once the credits rolled, Lestat broke the silence.

“Wow...”

“I know,” Louis whispered.

“God, I wish I could watch that again. What the hell even happened?”

“Well I have a few theories, but I’m really not sure.”

Lestat’s eyes grew wide as he stared at him, “Some theories? Oh, I’d love to hear them! What are they?”

“You want to hear my thoughts about this film? That’s unlike you.”

“No, no, no! I haven’t talked about interesting things with anyone in so long!” He paused, thinking, “I...I know I acted differently about this sort of thing when we first met, maybe it was my father, or wanting to spite someone, or jealousy, I really don’t know, and I’m sorry about that. But now I really want to hear it! I have my own ideas too, if you want them...”

“Oh, Lestat, there you go again, feeling bad about something that’s long past,” Louis took Lestat’s hands and squeezed them, “No worries, darling, I like this side of you. I’d love to hear what you think.”

For the rest of the night, they gleefully discussed and theorized about what they thought the movie could have meant, what had really happened, and if it really should have been rated G. Louis was surprised to see how educated and astute Lestat’s answers were, as well as his questions. Some of the themes he explored had never occurred to Louis, making feel a little threatened by his intellect, but only slightly, and not for very long. They had been so caught up in their conversation that neither of them remembered to turn the TV off until Armand reminded them sharply.

Once sunrise was near, and Louis began to feel drowsy, they moved to their room and changed into pajamas (Louis still envied Lestat’s Chinese silk clothes, though he would never admit it). They agreed to put their talk on hold until the next night, and as they kissed goodnight/morning, Louis noticed how bright his lover’s eyes were, glistening with the purest joy.

No sooner had Louis closed the lid on his own coffin, he heard the lid of another one slide off, and footfalls getting louder in his direction. Lestat climbed into Louis’ ready and open arms and whispered, “We had had a Golden Moment back there, you and I.”

“A what moment?” Louis was fighting sleep as he closed the lid over the both of them.

“A Golden Moment, dummy, don’t you remember it from my book?”

“I must have skimmed through that part. You tended to ramble.” Mumbled Louis, burying his nose in Lestat’s hair.

“I can’t believe you would disrespect me like that, I read your book over three times!”

“And then you ripped a copy of it to shreds, that part I did read.”

“Oh, well it doesn’t matter, anyways.” Lestat said with a huff, but Louis could feel his smile nestled on his neck.

The next night however, Louis realized that he did remember reading something about a Golden Moment. He didn’t really feel like picking up the book again to check, so he just reveled in Lestat’s happiness. He found him reading a lot more, though he would pace around the villa while doing so, unable to sit still. Louis could even forgive him writing notes in the margins of all the books he owned, but only because they were funny sometimes. He had forgotten how much fun it was to talk about things you liked with others. Sure, he had had similar discussions with Gabrielle, Armand, and Marius, but talking with his lover? With him he felt a great wave of pleasure, not unlike the pleasure of passion. He understood what Lestat had meant by a Golden Moment. For golden it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> * “Merde” — F*ck  
> * “Je jure devant Dieu” — I swear to God
> 
> A/N: Not too much fluff in this chapter, but I always get such a warm fuzzy feeling when talking about deep stuff with a significant other, and I wanted Lestat to have that again, since he hasn’t described having a similar experience with anyone since Nikki :’( it was just a little self-indulgence, something I wanted to be here.


	3. Amateur Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat half-forces Louis to go on a road trip across America to watch dozens of comedy acts. Lestat claims he just wants to get Louis out of the house, and Louis ends up enjoying some time alone with him. There's an ulterior motive behind this impromptu vacation, however, which Louis doesn't discover until they return to Night Island a week later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am basing this story in the late 1980s, right after where Queen of The Damned left off. Consequently, I mention a couple comedians who are now known for way more than their comedy (in a bad way). I only mention them once, for contextual reasons only, but just a bit of a content warning and a disclaimer that I in no way support the two people I have mentioned, I only acknowledge their careers. Other than that, please enjoy the nice long chapter I have for you!

"You know, Louis, you're actually pretty funny."

"Hm?" Louis turned to see Lestat flying through the open window, "I'm funny, you said?"

"Oh, definitely! You've got a real dry sense of humor." Lestat took off his coat and his shoes and lay down next to Louis, resting his head on his lap.

Louis fluttered his fingers absentmindedly on Lestat's chest. It was warm from the recent kill. "What makes a sense of humor 'dry', cher?" He said.

"Oh, I have no idea," Lestat laughed, reaching up to flick Louis' nose, which Louis pretended to try to bite, "But you definitely have one."

"Well, thank you, but I really don't think I'm all that amusing. You probably just think that because you're hopelessly in love with me."

"See? See that? That was funny! I'm telling you, you have a veritable goldmine of comedic potential there."

"Lestat, I'm perfectly fine being humorless," He twirled a lock of Lestat's curls around his finger, "It helps to balance you out."

Lestat scowled, "Oh, pffft, shut up."

Louis shrugged and blew Lestat a kiss. Lestat gave up, and they both sat/lay there in silence, Lestat dozing every once in a while. Gabrielle walked in and out of the room, "He'll waste the night if he's always sleeping through it," She said with a smirk.

"I'm resting my eyes..." Lestat mumbled.

"He's resting his eyes." Louis repeated.

She left the room giggling. "A goldmine, I'm telling you," Lestat said, eyes still closed.

The next evening, Lestat violently shook Louis awake, telling him that they were going to be late. Louis had barely formed a response in his mind before he was being dragged out into the hall, stumbling and half-conscious. Lestat was practically skipping up the stairs, singing the wrong lyrics to a George Michael song. Louis felt sick, “What is going on?” He half shouted.

“I’m taking you on vacation, darling!” Lestat winked.

Louis pulled his wrist from Lestat’s grip, “Vacation? What the hell are you talking about!?” He rubbed the sore joint, “I don’t want to go on a vacation! It’s fucking Miami! Vacation enough for me!”

“Oh, such language, Louis. And in front of a child, no less!”

Louis heard and ignored Armand’s faint interjection at Lestat’s jab from the other room, “I’m serious! Why do you do things like this? I hate it when you do all this impromptu nonsense!”

“Oh, come now, you’ll have fun!”

“I have plenty of fun here.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot your idea of fun was sitting inside all day reading or watching TV. I want you to get out, walk around! It’ll be good for you!”

“Well, you should have asked me.”

“Okay: will you come with me on this super fun road trip to spend some time alone together and see some interesting things and meet interesting people?”

“No.”

Lestat groaned, “See, honey, this is why I don’t ask you! I miss when you just rolled with things!”

“I don’t understand that expression,  _ honey _ .” Louis glared.

Lestat closed his eyes for a second or two and exhaled loudly. He said in a calm, serious voice, “If you trust me on this, I promise I will not play really bad punk rock in the car. You can bring whatever music you want, just please, please come with me.”

Louis knew that Lestat knew that music didn’t matter, but he begrudgingly appreciated his effort, and a whole car ride with Lestat and no really bad punk rock did soften the blow. Louis sighed, and Lestat grinned, kissed him, and thanked him. The yellow convertible was already packed, the engine was even running. Lestat sped north, fast.

After thirty minutes or so, Louis asked Lestat where they were even going, anyways. Lestat told him that he was taking him to see a few comedians perform around the country. He, strangely, had actually planned the whole trip to line up with the tour dates. Been planning it for weeks. Louis would have found this uncharacteristic behavior impressive if he wasn’t so disturbed by it. They were seeing everyone, from amateurs in bars to big names like Woody Allen and Bill Cosby. It made Louis a bit nervous to be around so many mortals, but admitted that he had missed going to see performances with Lestat, and at least they weren’t going to see Macbeth over 15 times like they did over 150 years ago.

Soon they had moved from the city interstate to the long roads of inland Florida, which cut through endless farmland. Lestat had said that their first show was on a small stage in a town close to the Georgia border. They would make it there about an hour before sunrise. Louis rolled down the top of the convertible and let the humid air assault his face and hair, its roar drowning out the radio, Lestat’s chatter, and his own thoughts. He leaned the seat back slightly, took off his sandals and put his feet up on the dashboard. The smell of the earth and the small forests around him was exhilarating, the dashing wind forcing him to breathe deeply.

He looked over at Lestat. His beautiful yellow hair was billowing behind him, he frequently brushed it out of his face, placing his long white fingers back onto the steering wheel. His eyes were squinted, a grin bared his fang teeth, giving his face a sort of impish, mischievous expression. He was like a statue come to life; you would not have guessed how vibrant, how lovely he really was behind that marbled skin.

“What’s with the jacket, dear? It’s Florida, for heaven’s sake!” Louis shouted over the deafening wind.

“The jacket, my love?” Lestat shouted back, glancing at him, “It suits me, don’t you think? I should ask you why you aren’t wearing one. You get cold so easily!”

Louis rolled his eyes, but did not respond. He knew the real reason for the long sleeves. It took a few weeks to discover, noticing the slight quiver in his eyes whenever he undressed, wanting to make love only if they were under the sheets and all the lights were out, the hours spent staring into the bathroom mirror, his quiet questions to Maharet on how she did her makeup. Akasha has given Lestat fantastic power, there’s no doubt. But she had also given him nightmares, she had given him paranoia, and she had given him emptiness, which Lestat hid well but Louis could notice. She had made his skin ice cold, white and pearly, inhuman.

Lestat hated how terrifying he looked.

They passed the Suwannee River, singing the song fragment loudly and off-key. Lestat pointed into the empty fields, joking about the farmers growing heroin, marijuana, and genetically mutated orange-lemon hybrids (“lemoranges”). They passed billboards advertising sex stores, quoting the Bible, and begging pregnant women not to abort. They finally passed a sign that said “Welcome to Georgia” with a pink peach icon at the top.

Soon after, Lestat pulled off the interstate, filled the car with gas, then drove them across the street to check into their motel. It was six in the morning. Louis was starving, and fed once they moved all of their things into the room. He had found a young man, walking to his car after a night shift in a drug store. Louis had forgotten how pink humans could be.

Lestat was a bit pinker when Louis returned to the room. His complexion jogged a memory in Louis’ mind from 1870s Paris, where he saw a woman dying of tuberculosis walking down the sidewalk, pale as he was, except for her violently flushed cheeks and hands, red as the blood she coughed up into her handkerchief. It was then that Lestat took off his jacket and his shoes, Louis doing the same on the double bed opposite.

They had ordered a double room for obvious reasons, telling the clerk they were brothers, as they had told everyone else back in New Orleans, Louis was Claudia’s father and Lestat, only her uncle. It was still very strange to Louis, having to hide more than just his teeth, his bloodlust. He was so detached from mortal society for so long, and now life started up again, still the same as it was almost 200 years ago.

Louis didn’t bother with pajamas, climbing into bed with only his underclothes. He missed the closeness and security a coffin brought, but a real bed was softer than he could have ever imagined, and he missed drifting off with room to spread out. He had just closed his eyes when Lestat kissed his cheek, whispering his name.

He sat up to face Lestat and pulled his lips to his own, running his hands through his soft, billowing hair. Lestat moved from his lips to his jaw, then lower, nibbling and sucking on his neck, drawing a sigh from Louis. Lestat broke the skin, ever so slightly, lapping up the blood that beaded from the wound. Their lips met again, Louis tasting the blood on Lestat’s teeth and tongue. Louis, in turn, bit Lestat’s lower lip, sucking the nectar from him. They were saying each others’ names, shushing each other, lest they were too loud. Then Louis felt the pull. The strongest force in his life, pulling his mind from where he desperately wanted it to be.

“… Lestat, I…” He whispered.

“Mm, darling?” Lestat was drinking, one drop at a time, the blood from Louis’ neck once more.

“It’s—” Louis suddenly could not repress a small moan, Lestat’s wandering hands meeting their mark, “It’s almost sunrise, I can’t…”

“Are you falling asleep, mon cher?” He placed more gentle, sensitive kisses onto the other side of his neck.

“Yes, I am. I… I wish I wasn’t…”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Lestat took his lips from him, “I forgot! If had known I never would have—”

Louis put his finger to Lestat’s lips, “Hush, I know you were trying for a ‘quickie’ as they say, before we sleep.”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Oh, don’t lie. But I’m afraid I can’t do even that, I’m sorry, cher.”

Lestat smiled and gestured that it was no big deal. He climbed down from the bed to dab the small bloodstains off with a tissue.

“Will you not come to bed, darling? I want to sleep with you.” Louis flopped down onto the cushions, the feeling better than anything Lestat could do to him.

Lestat stared apprehensively at him, then at the windows, then at the bed, “I, er…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Those curtains might let light in, I don’t know if it’s safe.” Lestat said in a quiet voice.

“The curtains? They’re blackout curtains, Lestat. They’re designed to keep light out.”

“But some light may come in through the bottom, or between them if they aren’t closed close enough. And what if a maid comes in to tidy the room? I just—” Lestat looked down, looking almost ashamed, “I don’t think I thought this trip through, come to think of it.”

Louis fought the pull to sleep, getting up to place his hands on Lestat’s rigid shoulders, to gently rub his shaking arms, “Hey, hey hey, no need to frighten yourself. Shh, take a deep breath, Lestat, there’s no danger.”

“I can’t sleep here, Louis, I can’t.”

“We don’t have to, dearest, not to worry. I’m sure the bathtub is a safe place, don’t you think?”

“The bathtub? Oh, Louis, I don’t want to have you sleep with me in a bathtub of all places if you want a bed—”

“I don’t care about the bed,” Louis cared a little about the bed, “I want you to sleep with me tonight. Make sure you won’t have nightmares.”

Lestat stood in silence, looking away from Louis. His lips pressed into a small, thin line. Louis kissed Lestat’s forehead and grabbed the pillow and duvet from the double bed and shuffled into the bathroom, setting them up into the tub to create another bed.

Lestat, after regaining his usual vigor, took the duvet off the other double bed and brought it in, “You get cold so easily,” he laughed.

Louis playfully protested, then lay down in the bathtub, which was more comfortable than he thought. He held out his hands and bundled Lestat close to him, his warm skin conducive, moving through his whole body like an ocean’s waves. With the last of his conscious strength he wrapped the both of them up into the extra duvet, and finally fell asleep.

* * *

Lestat and Louis did what they set out to do, with surprisingly little detour or distraction. Lestat, after a day or two, relaxed into sleeping in a proper bed, but only if he were practically buried in cushions and blankets, and Louis was suffocating him in cuddles. They finally did manage to get their timing right and make love a good three or four times during their trip. While away from their rooms, there were a few instances, namely in DC and New York, where Louis dragged Lestat to a museum or cinema before going to see their show, but they never missed one performance.

As for the comedians, some were funnier than others. Lestat found everyone hilarious, as he always did, and Louis found himself chuckling to himself more times than he’d care to admit. He was mainly happy to see Lestat forgetting his fear, if not for a couple hours at a time. It was autumn, and it became more and more apparent the further north they went. Louis tried to stop Lestat from buying him another coat, but Lestat insisted, saying he enjoyed “spoiling” him.

They never went further west than Kansas, however, on their Great American Road Trip. Lestat had not planned anything further, so they headed back through the south, stopping in New Orleans to go to a mass at St. Louis Cathedral. Louis missed going to Mass, and the beauty of the church he had taken for granted. He had gone alone in those Rue Royale days, after leaving the flat to feed. The only time he took his family along with him was for the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. Even Lestat could not bring himself to argue. Louis missed dressing up, helping Claudia into her fur cloak and deep purple bonnet, he and Lestat applying each other’s cuff links.

“Claudia used to be so well-behaved during mass.” Lestat whispered to him after genuflecting and shuffling into the pew after Louis.

“Yes, she was,” Louis smiled, “One would almost forget how savagely she hunted.”

“She had a lovely singing voice, too. I only ever heard it here after a while.”

Louis nodded, and brushed his fingers over Lestat’s, gently caressing them in a tiny gesture no one else would see. After the mass ended they took to the road again, soon passing the familiar swamps and marshes of Louisiana.

When they finally returned home to Miami, they were greeted with love and curiosity at Night Island, them being gone for almost a week. Lestat, naturally, had bought souvenirs for everyone: a shot glass as a joke for Daniel, a new hat for Gabrielle, a denim jacket from New York for Armand (he wanted him to have some fashion variety), a bass guitar signed by Roger Waters for Marius, a few lottery tickets for Khayman (he didn’t win), a sapphire ring for Maharet, a ruby necklace for Pandora, a pack of tarot cards as a joke for Jesse, and he had sent a few postcards to Mael, Eric, and Santino, who were away from the villa at the time.

A day or so later, Lestat had gone out with his mother to go to a concert for a band Louis couldn’t stand. He, Daniel, and Jesse were all sitting on a balcony together, chatting and enjoying the fresh air. Jesse was describing a man she fed on the other night as being handsome, and Louis perked up.

“Hey, that reminds me of something one of the comedians told last week.” He said.

“Really?” Daniel smirked, “What was it?”

“Well, he was once talking to a woman he liked, and she had told him that he was too handsome for her. He didn’t quite know what she meant, but assumed she was just trying to soften the rejection for him. Later he was talking to his friend about it, and this friend told him it was no compliment. He told him, ‘You know how when two people sleep together it’s a twosome, with three it’s a threesome, and with four it’s a foursome?’ The man said yes, he did know that. The friend said, ‘Well then my friend, I suppose you’ll be  _ hand _ some for the rest of your life.’”

Jesse’s eyes widened and her face flushed, a snort escaping her nose. Daniel let out a sudden “HA!” and threw his head back, his mouth in a wide grin. Louis laughed at the memory of that night, how Lestat looked over at Louis the same way Jesse was looking at him now. Daniel patted Louis on the back and asked if he had any more.

“Not if you like knock-knock jokes.” Louis smirked and shrugged.

This made Jesse laugh properly, “Oh god, I gotta tell Gabrielle, I wish she would hurry up already!”

Daniel was wiping tears from his eyes, “Man, Louis, you never struck me as the joking type. Thought that was Lestat’s thing. It really suits you, though, I like it. Guess that vacation did you some good, huh?”

As Daniel left the balcony and went into the house, Louis realized that there were times on that trip when he would simply let his thoughts go and enjoy the moment, as Lestat always seemed to do. He never realized how nice it felt, not thinking about everything all the time, and how exhausting it was for him to be in a perpetual state of Romantic existentialism. Guess it did do him some good, after all. Making others laugh had never crossed his mind before, either, but here he was, reducing his friends to giggling messes, and it felt really  _ good _ .

He then followed the other two into the house, where Lestat and Gabrielle had just returned. Jesse had told the joke to Gabrielle, who was now doubled over, holding her stomach, “And Louis told you this?” She was saying.

Lestat was standing next to his mother, smiling at the others. He gave Louis a knowing glance, and winked at him when Louis mouthed “thank you”. All part of the plan, his wink seemed to say. A resounding success, no doubt.


	4. He Wants The Young American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Armand suggests Louis and Lestat sleep in a proper bed like everyone else, it brings up some terrifying memories for Lestat, who was abducted twice, both times while he slept. Louis does his best to comfort him, but the arrival of their new sleeping arrangements tips the scale for Lestat, who decides the pros outweigh the cons. And let's just say he is eager to "break it in" as well.

Louis awoke after sunset to Lestat climbing into his coffin, radiating warmth. He hummed as a sort of “good evening” before nestling his head against his chest, kissing the warm, pink skin.

“Oh my,” Lestat mused, “Ma chere, you feel so cold! Glad I went to feed early to help warm you up.”

“Shut up, I’m not that cold.” Louis said, eyes still closed,

“Louis, er,” Lestat seemed suddenly embarrassed, as if ashamed of what he felt, “I can’t really lie down comfortably, would you mind shifting a bit? I’m sorry!”

As if this was Lestat’s fault at all, Louis wondered as he moved himself closer to the wall of the coffin, allowing Lestat to lie flat on his back. “Ugh, it’s so stuffy in here,” Louis mumbled.

“Do you want to move to the living room?” Lestat stroked Louis’ arm, which was draped across Lestat’s chest.

Louis whined, and squeezed Lestat tighter. After a second or two, though, the idea of the lovely, open air seemed so inviting, despite the drawback of losing privacy. He nodded, and began lifting himself from Lestat’s body, immediately bumping his head on the coffin’s lid. He ignored his own embarrassment and Lestat’s laughter and went to put some clothes on.

Armand shuffled out of his own room a few minutes after Louis and Lestat came out to relax on the loveseat in the living room. He had dark circles under his eyes and a terrifying scowl scrunching up his nose. He looked like a college student making his way to a morning class. He looked a perfect fright. Marius, walking, or, rather, gliding, from the same room, looked the polar opposite, a small smile on his perfect face. He kissed the top of Armand’s head and said good evening to them, asking them not to mind “the little one”.

“Oh, I never mind him, don’t worry,” Lestat snickered.

“I will kill you with my bare hands--” Armand began to say before being cut off by Marius.

“Let’s get you someone to eat before you do, hmm?” Marius cooed, which seemed to calm Armand despite his reluctance. He put his hand on Armand’s back to lead him towards the front door.

Lestat turned back to Louis and sighed, “Oh, Louis, if only that coffin of yours wasn’t so cramped!”

“It might help if you slept on your own once in a while,” Louis replied.

Lestat rolled his eyes, “Ugh, never in a million years, and I don’t care about how you feel about it.”

“You never do.”

“You just love to think I’m some sort of devil, don’t you? You never think about how that might hurt me!”

Louis raised an eyebrow, “Okay, dear, how does it make you feel?”

Lestat laughed and shrugged his shoulders, “Oh I’m just fooling around, I don’t care in the slightest what anyone thinks. Haha!” He pressed three kisses to Louis’ temple, “But seriously, darling, we’ve got to do something about that coffin! It’s dreadfully uncomfortable!”

Louis had to agree, “I will say, it’s a bit too close for two people. And with your constant insistence on sleeping with me…”

They heard Armand chime in from the hallway, “You two still sleep in coffins? You’re the only ones I know who still do that,” He walked in, still looking irritated and white as a ghost.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember asking you what you think,” Lestat said sharply.

“But why the hell do you, anyway? Everyone else sleeps in regular beds, it’s pretty safe.”

Lestat did not answer, and his eyes moved to his feet. Louis heard his heart begin to race, afraid to answer truthfully about his real fears. Louis quickly said, “I just suppose we’re creatures of habit, that’s all,” He prayed Armand would not notice Lestat’s visible anxiety, or at least just ignore it.

Armand did seem to ignore it, directing his attention to Louis, “You know, I can have a bed put in your room, if you want.”

Louis was a bit confused at his generosity, and he felt Lestat shift in his arms, “You would? It seems a bit of a hassle--”

“Oh please,” Armand rolled his eyes, “I’ve done it for everyone who lives here, and I can get the windows some shutters, too. I literally just have to make one call.”

“Well, er,” Louis looked to Lestat, “What do you think?”

“… Sounds good to me,” Lestat’s eyes were brightening again.

Marius came back into the room, giving Armand a stern look, to which Armand responded “alright, alright” as he turned to follow him into the hall once more. 

Once he heard the front door close, Lestat said, “Thank you,” sheepishly. “I don’t know what happened there, I--” He trailed off, embarrassed.

“You’re afraid of what will happen to you when you sleep, Lestat, I know,” Louis whispered, stroking his smooth, pink cheeks.

Lestat closed his eyes and leaned against Louis’ hands, “And I know it’s foolish to think that now since there’s no one but us now and we’re very safe and it’s all over but I just can’t stop thinking about it!”

Louis saw Lestat’s eyes begin to well up. He wanted to hush him, kiss his every inch and hold him, touch him, and make him feel anything but this pain. But he stayed quiet, knowing Lestat must speak.

“With--with Magnus, with him coming through my window to steal me from my own bed, turning me into this… thing, even though I begged him to stop!” Lestat’s voice broke, but he continued, “And Akasha, I couldn’t fight it! She ripped me from where I was and all I could do was sleep! And she took me away and made me kill and made me love her and turned me into a hideous monster and I couldn’t stop it! I even wanted it--!”

Lestat began to cry, unable to speak any longer. Louis embraced him gently and spoke in a soft voice, “Oh, mon amour, ne pleure pas. C'est bon, mon coeur, mon Lestat. Tu es en sécurité. Je t'aime, ma chère…” He did his best not to tell him what he already knew, that the house was secure, the whole coven does the same thing. He had tried it before, and it just made Lestat feel worse, made him feel like he was going crazy.

Instead, he told him, “Hey, you know, I feel the same way, cher,” Lestat sniffled and looked up. Louis continued, “While we were running away after your concert, you remember how all the other vampires were bursting into flames around us? Or when you were up with Akasha, God-knows-where? All I could see was you bleeding on the carpet in Rue Royale, screaming, in flames. All I could think of was that,  _ I did this _ . I delivered you into the hands of death, and you were screaming my name, screaming for help the whole time.”

Lestat whispered, “Oh, Louis… I don’t want you thinking I resent--”

“No, no,” Louis hushed him, “I know we have long forgiven each other, I know. But… it does not stop my mind from replaying that day, telling me the same lies. So I understand, Lestat. You don’t have to justify anything. Our hearts both suffer, and it’s hard to heal from what has happened in the past. Our hearts play tricks on us, mon cher, and it hurts. Even though our mind knows better.”

Lestat went on once more, “I just… can’t stop thinking about how I felt with Akasha. I loved her, I did. And I know she was only doing that to me to make me obey her and because she loved me too, but… oh, God. I can see her everywhere, and I hate how I still can’t say I don’t love her anymore, and I can’t stop thinking about how I couldn’t help her as she--she died.” Lestat grasped tighter onto Louis, “I--I feel like my mind is in two places. I’m scared of myself, and… and everything.”

Louis replied, “I know it seems impossible right now, but these wounds, too, will heal. You will soon find peace, I promise.”

Lestat did not speak for a few moments, then he looked into his eyes and said, “Have you found peace, Louis?”

Louis paused, then closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

They both sat there in silence, holding each other, as if the other might be carried away by a storm. “I hope you know that I love you. I love you with all my heart.” Louis murmured.

Lestat seemed to almost laugh, “Of course I know, darling. I love you too, so, so much.”

They finally broke their embrace, grateful that no one walked in to see their little venting session. Louis needed to feed, and he kissed Lestat multiple times before he went, having washed the blood tears off of his face. After he returned he found Lestat and Armand in his room, watching a new, king-sized, four-poster bed being assembled by the staff.

“My, that was certainly fast!” Louis cried.

“I told you,” Armand said, miming a phone with his hand, “Just one call. Had it shipped in.”

“Isn’t this exciting, Louis?” Lestat seemed to bounce around the room, all traces of his distress gone, “I just felt the mattress and it’s the softest thing I’ve ever touched! Oh, well, besides your lovely skin, of course.”

Armand scoffed, “If you could not be so disgusting for one minute of your life!”

“Oh, yes,” Lestat scoffed back, “And you and Marius are just so subtle, aren’t you?”

Armand inhaled sharply through his nose, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and his eyes widened. “Just shut up! My God!” He shouted and stormed out of the room, the others following, giggling, though giving him a wide berth.

Most of the coven was at the villa, and they were currently all congregated in the large living room, Maharet and Eric sitting at the dining room table, poring over a magazine, Khayman and Santino, at the same table, playing a card game. Jesse and Gabrielle were sitting by the piano, Gabrielle teaching her how to play. Armand stormed over to a bookshelf, picked up “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” (Lovecraft was a new obsession of his), and stomped back to the couch to read, still blushing violently. Marius was sitting by the bookshelf, biting the end of a pencil, staring at an empty sketchpad. Pandora and Mael were on the couch by Armand, watching the television, switched to MTV. A Michael Jackson video, “Smooth Criminal”, was playing. Lestat sauntered over to Gabrielle and Jesse, while Louis took a seat by the bookshelf, gingerly greeting Marius as he pulled a random book from the shelf. He overheard Lestat’s conversation with his mother.

“Hey Gabrielle, strange to see you inside this time of night!” Lestat laughed.

“Hello dear, one second--” She turned towards those watching TV, “HEY, CAN YOU TURN THAT SHIT DOWN? I’M TRYING TO FOCUS!”

“Go to another room then, Jesus!” Mael shouted back.

“You go to another room!”

Louis heard Maharet sigh and walk to the television, turning its volume down three or four notches. Mael huffed but did not protest. Louis snickered to himself. Marius had started sketching Armand.

Around 11pm the bed was fully assembled, as well as the shutters installed. The duvet matched the peachy wallpaper of the room. Lestat mumbled a complaint about the simplicity of the design, and Louis gave him a look as if to say  _ shut up, Armand could have made us do it ourselves _ . Lestat shrugged at this, and promptly threw himself onto the bed, rolling back and forth, moaning about how soft it was, how much he liked to spread his arms out.

“Armand had the coffins put underneath,” Louis said, “Just in case.”

“Oh, he’s such an angel for doing that!” Lestat sighed, in ecstasies, “I would kiss him if he would let me! Oh Louis, come here!”

Louis obeyed and climbed in next to Lestat, pressing a small kiss to his lips. Lestat kissed him again, deeper. Louis thought he knew where this was going until Lestat broke from him and said, “Take your socks off!”

“Take my socks off?”

“Yes!” Lestat was adamant, “And your pants too! You have to feel these sheets with your bare skin!”

Louis, a bit confused, removed his socks and trousers, and got under the covers with Lestat. He gasped, “It’s silk!” Lestat nodded furiously, grinning widely, Louis said, mostly to himself, “Ohhh, it’s silk,” His eyes rolled back into his head, finally understanding Lestat’s reaction, previously thought to be his characteristic melodrama. He slid deeper under the sheets, their smoothness making his skin tingle. He spread his arms and legs out back and forth, as if he were making a snow angel. 

He felt Lestat’s hand on his abdomen, still warm from the new blood from the early evening. He kissed Louis, three or four times, and gathered him into his arms. Louis let Lestat’s kisses move lower, to his jawbone and neck, let him bite the skin beneath, and drink just a bit, before he growled in a low voice and rolled on top of Lestat, plunging his fangs into his neck, bunching his golden hair in his fist, the other hand gently squeezing his throat, pushing the savory, thick blood through the wound and into his impatient mouth. Lestat whimpered and to quiet him, Louis brought his lips back to his mouth, tasting each others’ blood once again.

Lestat was out of breath when he whispered between kisses, “I get that you want to break this bed in right away.”

“Only because you wanted me to, you little tease,” Louis grinned, “You know my weaknesses too well, mon amour.”

“I’ve only had just under 70 years to hone my craft, dearest,” Lestat winked. He opened his mouth to say more but Louis closed the gap once more with his mouth, hungrily tearing at Lestat’s tongue, letting Lestat do the same. The liquid warmth flowed through both mouths, it spilled down their chins and shirts as they breathlessly ravaged each other’s mouths. 

Lestat’s hands slid up under Louis’ shirt, then he scratched down with his glassy fingernails, eliciting a moan from Louis, still attached to the other’s lips and teeth and tongue. He took his own bloodstained shirt off with an uncharacteristic restlessness, before ripping the top off of Lestat. He plucked his lips from him, and they put their foreheads together, struggling to catch their breaths. Blood dribbled from Lestat’s mouth, and made a trail down his chin, down his throat, over his heaving chest. It weaved around his molded abdominal muscles, and would have soaked into the waistband of his shorts if Louis had not caught it with his tongue, backtracking its path, slurping slowly, watching Lestat muffle his sighs by slapping his palm to his open mouth.

They were just about to slip their last pieces of clothing off when Lestat’s eyes suddenly darted away. Louis followed his gaze to the bedroom door--their  _ unlocked _ bedroom door.

“Oh shit!” Louis said, trying to stifle his laughter. He got up and opened the door a crack.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lestat screamed in a whisper.

Louis said nothing and held up his index finger to silence him. He quietly shut the door again, locking it. He sat back down on the bed, “They’re all still out there,” he said, blushing.

“So we’ll be quiet! It’s not a new thing for us.” Lestat almost pouted.

Louis then stood up again and walked toward one of the newly shuttered windows. He stooped down to sift through a box containing various vinyl records. When he selected one, he took it to a record player, which he dusted off and plugged in. He dropped the needle, and the sound of David Bowie’s soulful title track from his  _ Young Americans _ album filled the room.

“I didn’t know you liked Bowie,” Lestat mused, watching him.

“Aha, apparently I still have a few secrets, my dove,” Louis climbed back into bed.

He resumed his position on top of Lestat and kissed his lips once more, softly, and over and over. Lestat whispered breathlessly between these kisses, “I’ve never made love to  _ Young Americans _ before.”

“It’s a wonderful album to make love to,” Louis responded.

“You--” Lestat closed his eyes as a moan was forced from his mouth, Louis’ hands no longer caressing his face, “--You haven’t been sleeping around without me, have you, darling?”

“Oh, never,” Louis smirked, still smug about how completely powerless he had made Lestat, “But I have always imagined this when I listen to it.”

“Ah, and now your wildest dreams have come true, haven’t they?”

“Indeed,” Louis whispered, moving his mouth lower and lower down Lestat’s trembling body, until his head was submerged by the silken sheets, all but his hair, which Lestat gripped tighter and tighter and tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Oh, mon amour, ne pleure pas. C'est bon, mon coeur, mon Lestat. Tu es en sécurité. Je t'aime, ma chère…” -- Oh, my love, don’t cry. It’s okay, my heart, my Lestat. You are safe. I love you, my darling…
> 
> Very proud to introduce daddy!Marius this chapter, as well as a bit of interaction with the other coven members, and some implied Armand x Marius (bit of self-indulgence hehe). Part 1 of the two-part "Renovation" story, which I had to split into two parts cuz this got longer than expected oops, tune in next time for to see Lestat stressing Louis out with his knowledge of feng shui! Hope you enjoyed the ;)))) at the end. I trust the rest you your imagination.


	5. But They Were Pictures Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a new bed has inspired Lestat to completely redecorate their room, guided by a book on feng shui. Louis does not care for his constant puttering around, but one day, while looking through some old storage boxes, he finds an old portrait of himself, Lestat, and Claudia, painted in 1820. He is hit by a wave of memories and emotions which he can hardly contain.

“Hmm,” Lestat was standing at the foot of the bed, facing it, “I think we should move this to the other side of the room.”

Louis was still in bed, awake but unwilling to remove himself from its comfort. He squinted at Lestat, “Why?” He muttered, whining.

“It will help us to sleep better, Louis.”

“We sleep fantastically no matter where we are, though. Gabrielle has slept underground, in fact she enjoys it.”

“Well it’s proven, dearest. It’s all here in this book,” Lestat said, patting said book which he held at his side.

Louis grunted and rolled over, curling up tighter. He wished Lestat would get into bed with him, or at least leave him alone. Just be quiet. He heard him continue to chatter.

Lestat walked over to the corner of the room. “Ugh, there’s almost nothing here! It’s so pathetic,” He frowned, “That bed is the only welcoming thing about this room.”

Louis sighed, “The idea was that we just sleep and store some belongings in here. Why would I decorate a room I hardly use?”

Lestat scoffed, “Hey, it’s my room too! And I think we use it plenty!” A slight purr saturated the words of his last sentence, it’s implications flirtatious and thick.

Louis was unaffected, however. “Please go find someone else to bother,” He pleaded.

He could not see Lestat, but he could tell his brow had furrowed, his lips pursed. “Well if I don’t do something, I’m going to be bothersome for eternity, Louis!

“Look,” Lestat said, exhaling, “This room isn’t very big, we have no need for any more furniture. I just ask that I be allowed to decorate a bit! Rearrange things, you know? I want this room to be more than a place where we slept in boxes and hid our things away in more boxes.” He had walked over to where Louis slept, flopping down on his stomach perpendicular to him. He curled a lock of black hair in his white finger, “Won’t you please give me this?”

“I never said you couldn’t, I just said to leave me alone. Tear down the wall for all I care,” Louis said, slightly mollified but still primarily irritated.

“You test me, darling,” Lestat said through gritted teeth, “But I’m trying to be a gentler person, so fine.” He kissed Louis’ temple, then began to get up. A hand shot out, hooking around Lestat’s neck, forcing him down next to him, where they relaxed into each others’ arms.

* * *

_“Sit still, ma cherie, please.”_

_“He keeps fidgeting.”_

_“Lestat, sit still, please.”_

_“I’m not a child, I know how to sit still!”_

_“Then do it.”_

* * *

A memory, vivid as a lucid dream, assaulted Louis’ head in a flash. He almost gasped, though he managed to contain himself. He must have jerked a little, however, since Lestat, sitting next to him, had asked him the matter.

“Nothing, just felt a chill, I suppose.” Louis reassured him.

Lestat strummed a slow C chord on his guitar, the pads of his fingers delivering a softer sound than one a pick could produce. He had gotten bored of feng shui for the time being, not realizing how exhausting it was to walk back and forth across a small room over and over. He said, “It’s a warm night,” His honeyed voice was almost singing, “Why don’t you get some fresh air, my love?”

Louis nodded, doggy-eared the page in his book, and stood to walk toward the balcony, opening the French doors.

He didn’t know what had jogged such a specific memory, and it worried him. The slight breeze brought the salty smell of the ocean, the metallic whiff of mortal blood. He had fed already, now feeling no lust for it, but the scent was pleasant nonetheless. A comfort, almost. He inhaled deeply, trying to smell more of the air.

_“He’s the best painter in the city. Nothing but the best for my beloved family.”_

There it was again, this time it made his stomach swirl, butterflies born of apprehension and inexplicable joy. He felt pressured, as though an urgent matter was calling to him. Into the villa, the bedroom, a box under a box, a chipped, gilded frame. He asked his senses _why? What is so important?_ but they did not answer. They never did. His chest tightened, and he found his feet swiveling below him, walking through the French doors.

“Louis?” Lestat inquired, still picking the strings with his thumb, index, and middle fingers.

“Just forgot something,” Louis waved his hand at him, not slowing his pace. He had to get to his room, had to find the chipped gilded frame in a box under a box. There was something important there. Something he couldn’t stop remembering.

He shut the bedroom door behind him and began to rummage through the boxes piled in the corners of the room, holding faded pictures, crumbling journals, rusting crucifixes, frayed clothes. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he swore he would know it when he saw it. Then he did see it.

_“Try to smile, Louis. You too, Claudia. It won’t take long.”_

It was a large, old painting, dated 1820. In it, Louis stood behind a seated Lestat, hand on his shoulder, Claudia was perched upon Lestat’s knee, Louis’ other hand resting on her arm. Lestat was clad in green velvet, Louis in blue. Claudia was wearing a lavender dress of silk and lace, ribbons of the same color in her hair. Louis now vividly remembered sitting for this portrait. The painter, though Louis had forgotten his name, truly was the best in the state, and Lestat had spared no expense. The artist had caught the old soul within Claudia’s eyes, and the softness and pure joy behind Lestat’s mischievous grin.

* * *

_“Put your best dress on, little mademoiselle! Louis, your best coat! I’ve decided we will have our portrait done.”_

_Louis raised an eyebrow, blowing on the match he used to light one of their gas lamps. He glimpsed Claudia, reading a newspaper as big as she was, lower it to stare at Lestat, annoyed._

_“When? It isn’t tonight, I hope,” Louis asked, already knowing the answer._

_“Oh yes, my love, it’s tonight!” Lestat laughed and continued, “And there’s no way to refuse me, seeing as I have already paid the young man in advance.” He winked, obviously delighted at how much he could frustrate Louis._

_Claudia spoke up from the other room, “We’ve already had our portraits done, Lestat.”_

_Lestat pivoted on his toes like a dancer, now facing the child, “I do wish you’d call me ‘papa’, you know. I so loved being called ‘papa’.”_

_Claudia simply shook her head and scoffed._

_Lestat said, “But we’ve never had a portrait done of us together! And the ones she is speaking of were done almost 20 years ago. Come on, Louis, you must come with me. You know you can’t refuse me.”_

_Louis couldn’t, though he certainly tried. He sighed, and gathered Claudia into his arms. He walked with her to her room saying, “Now, which dress would look the prettiest on you, my love?”_

_After he had left Claudia to her own wardrobe, he approached his own room, where Lestat was just finishing the little buttons on his green coat. He really did look so handsome, and the way his outfit seemed to hide the shape of his body made Louis imagine it all the more. Lestat’s gloved hands moved to the back of his neck, flipping his golden hair out from under his collar. Louis took a comb from the vanity he was in front of and ran it through that curly spill, smelling of the blood he had so recently drank. It became softer with every stroke, and he found himself able to tolerate Lestat’s little exclamations when he hit a knot. He felt he deserved a little bit of discomfort, anyway._

_Times were different now, Lestat’s lion hair was not tied back with a silky ribbon as it was when they first met. Now, he let it lie loose, he let it be swept to and fro in the windy preludes of a thunderstorm, he let it be brushed aside when his family kissed him. It used to be only something Louis would see when he was undressing, letting it tumble out to frame his steely eyes, his parted lips. Now, Lestat seemed like an exhibitionist to him, though he knew the idea was silly, of course. But he could not help his own embarrassment, feeling these revealed voluminous locks were akin to a woman casting her bodice aside, walking into the world with her breasts fully visible, arm in arm with her husband. It was something so intimate between them alone, and now how it aroused him so, how it made him hate himself for desiring him._

_Lestat had turned and kissed him so gently, his lips warm and soft, saying thank you silently. Louis smoothed his fingers over the velvet fabric, the other hand under Lestat’s chin, glad they were having one of their moments of unspoken peace. Lestat’s own hands were pressing on Louis’ chest, fingers drumming on the shapely muscles beneath his waistcoat._

_“Mmph,” Louis finally ended their kiss, “Which coat should I wear, dear?”_

_Lestat’s eyes brightened, his temperament softened by that intimacy, “Oh, that lovely deep blue one, mon cher,” He hummed, “Though you’ll have to change into another waistcoat, that one won’t match it at all.”_

_Louis laughed a bit, and did just that._

_It took two hours for the artist to finally complete the painting, and by then Lestat had become dreadfully irritable, quickly lowering Claudia to the ground after they were allowed to move once more. He moaned and whined about his sore neck and face, all while Louis and Claudia shared a look and thanked the artist promptly._

_He still held Claudia’s tiny hand as they walked home, however, perhaps out of habit, or comfort. And he was surprisingly polite to the both of them, not taking out his anger on them as he usually did. It was fleeting, however. An instance never repeated more than two other times._

* * *

It was this painting that Louis had hidden deep in his trunk as he and Claudia were about to leave Rue Royale. He never told her that he took it, terrified that she would want to destroy it. He thanked God it was not destroyed in the fire, either. He marveled at its preservation. He wondered, while moving their things into the Paris hotel they would share, if he should have left the portrait with Lestat, seeing as he would have been alone. He felt ashamed at his selfishness, and no matter how he had tried to reassure himself: _Lestat was probably dead anyway, what use was an old painting to a dead man?_ He could not rid himself of that guilt.

And yet he had kept it, stroking the faces of his long-gone family, away from Armand’s gaze after the death of his daughter. He gazed on the lovely face of Lestat, trying desperately to put the waif he now knew out of his head. He gazed and gazed until he finally tore himself away, stored it in a box where it had remained for half a century, and almost forgot it.

His heart was bursting out of his chest at the sight of it again. His own mind could not describe the bombardment of scattered emotions and fragments of thoughts. He realized his mouth had been hanging open, and he felt the sting of tears on his eyes. Claudia was so beautiful, her face fresher in his mind than ever before. And he and Lestat looked so like themselves as they were today; it could have been painted yesterday. He found himself saying Claudia’s name out loud, in a broken half-whisper.

_Click._

Louis frantically stuffed the portrait back into its hiding place, rubbing away the tears that were dangerously close to spilling from his eyes. It was no use, however, his eyes were still bloodshot, his nose puffy and red. He turned his back to the door that creaked open, pretending to shuffle through some old books of his, ones that Lestat had written dirty jokes or comments about the characters in. _Please leave me alone, whoever you are. Please just go away._

“Louis, are you okay?” Lestat said gently.

A sigh escaped Louis’ lips, wanting both to melt into his arms and run as far away from him as he could. He turned his head and tried to respond, but the words were caught in his throat.

“Louis!” Lestat cried, “Are you crying? What’s with the tears, my darling?”

Louis fought the tears back with all his strength, and only looked in the direction of that beautiful, tragically beautiful, family portrait.

Lestat followed his gaze and strode over to it, dropping to his knees, pulling out the large, chipped, gilded frame. He saw the image beneath the frame and his palm flew to his mouth. He could not stop staring at it. After a few seconds he whipped his head back to meet the other’s gaze.

“Louis,” He whispered, “Oh, Louis.”

Lestat’s face and the whole world became red as Louis’ tears filled his eyes to the brim. They burst from their origin as his eyes snapped shut and a sob thundered it’s way up from deep in his stomach.

Lestat had been there to hold him as his knees buckled and weakened. He held him as Louis’ head became heavy and collapsed into his shoulder. His arms were gripped tight around him, pressing his body firmly to his own as Louis poured forth tears of grief, tears of joy, shock, and stress.

“...Sorry… I’m so sorry,” Louis was whispering, out of breath, out of energy, “I shouldn’t have… hidden it…”

“No, no, mon amour, no,” Lestat was saying to his every apology, every butchered attempt at explanation. Instead he gently stroked his jet black hair, massaged his rigid neck, and pressed his face to his ear, trying to achieve as much skin-to-skin contact as was possible. “My love, my beautiful one, it’s so lovely, my darling, most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen,” He was whispering into his ear, “Shh, shh, Louis. I love you, my Louis.”

“Oh god, Lestat, oh god,” He sputtered, wanting so desperately to spill all of the words and images that ran through his mind when he first saw that painting, but his mouth would not open except to sob, his lips would not part except to repeat Lestat’s name.

He needed him to know, to understand. He had watched Lestat open up so tenderly and breathtakingly before. He watched Lestat tell him of all his fears with plain spoken words. And now it was his turn, and why couldn’t he do it? He hoped against all hope that Lestat could listen underneath his tears, comprehend the meaning behind his desperate embrace.

“I understand, darling, I do,” He heard Lestat say, he heard the tears he let fall, “I remember that night so well. I remember you giving me such a tender kiss, and tying ribbons into Claudia’s hair. Do you remember that?”

Louis giggled between gasps for air. Of course he remembered.

“That was such a good memory. I was so well behaved,” He laughed as he said this, “Claudia was so patient with us, wasn’t she? She loved us so.”

Louis sniffled a bit, steadying his breath to look into Lestat’s eyes. Yes, they were bloody, but oh, they were blue. His hair was down as it had been on that night, curling into soft spirals, pillow-soft to the touch. So warm; so beautiful. His beautiful, awful, delectable, arrogant Lestat. That artist’s portrayal of him did him less and less justice the more Louis drank up with his eyes. If only he could look on Claudia’s face as well, see her tiny nose and mouth, feel her tiny hands clutch his cheeks.

But Lestat was all that was left of their family. He had almost lost him countless times. No, don’t dwell on that. He was here now, wasn’t he? And things weren’t perfect but they were so good and nothing and no one could touch them ever again. He found himself kissing Lestat, pressing his lips time and time again to his lips. He felt as though he wanted to move within him, become one body with him. Not in the carnal way, though that was not completely out of his mind. He wanted to meld their bodies together, as pressing his body onto his was not enough. But this wasn’t possible, neither was the return of their lost, dark little angel. Louis said Lestat’s name one more time before nestling his head into the crook of his neck, fitting perfectly.

The dawn was almost upon them now, and gray streaks across the sky created a deadly, erratic brushstroke. Lestat helped Louis up, and put his arm around his shoulder as they walked to the bathroom, wiping the coagulated blood from their cheeks (now a regular routine as it turned out) with a damp washcloth. Louis was drained entirely from all that crying, and felt so weak that he could hardly shift his position in their bed without feeling an almost phantom ache. After Lestat closed the shutters on their windows, he climbed in beside Louis without saying a word. Louis was asleep the minute his skin touched Lestat’s.

* * *

Louis woke up the next night to his window creaking closed with a soft pop. Lestat glided in, flushed pink from the new blood. He removed his light jacket and shoes, soon stripping down to his underclothes and slipping in next to him. Louis pretended he was still sleeping to humor him, knowing he felt self-conscious about his frigid skin. Louis did admit he was affected by the cold more than most, but that never stopped his unquenchable desire to lavish affection on his beloved, skin be damned. Despite this, Lestat still awoke earlier than him, sped into the night for a victim, and returned within a quarter of an hour to be nice and warm for when Louis woke up.

After a minute or two Lestat whispered, “Louis, I know you’re awake.”

Louis smiled, rolling onto his back, “Oh, I can’t enjoy a bit of silent pleasures before your voice ruins them?”

“You know you love my voice,” Lestat purred.

“Only when it’s saying my name,” Louis growled back, purely playfully. He leaned in to kiss him good evening, humming as their lips touched, “How are you, love?” Louis whispered, placing his hand on the other’s upper arm, “Did you sleep well?”

Lestat draped his arm around Louis’ waist, “Oh, wonderful, darling, truthfully,” He scratched the skin gently, up and down with his fingernails, “But I want to know how you fared last night, no nightmares, I hope.”

“No, no nightmares,” Louis laughed, stroking Lestat’s pink skin with his thumb, tiny circles, figure-eights, “Actually, I can’t recall any dreams last night.”

Lestat laughed with Louis, “Well, that’s sometimes the best we can get.”

A blush then took over Lestat’s face as he broke their eye contact. He said sheepishly, “I… have something I want to show you,” He sat up and slid out of bed, gesturing for Louis to follow, “It’s a gift, of sorts.”

Louis smiled warmly, and gingerly took Lestat’s outstretched hand as they walked to the foot of the bed, facing the empty wall in front of them.

“This wall is just so bare,” Lestat said, “And I didn’t know what to do about it. There wasn’t anything about the walls facing your bed in that blasted book. But now I—actually, just close your eyes, Louis.”

“I don’t trust you,” Louis joked, remembering the last time he was put into this situation, which ended with sex, but not before embarrassing Louis to tears.

“Please? I swear it’s an actual gift this time,” Lestat whined.

“Should I hold out my hands?”

“No, dear. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, just be patient.”

Louis giggled, thought he felt slightly awkward sitting there in nothing but his underwear. Nevertheless, he shut his eyes and sighed deeply, making sure to keep his mouth shut tight. He heard Lestat shuffling on the hardwood floor, humming to himself. It was three minutes that his eyes had to be closed, Lestat sputtering not to peek whenever Louis grew impatient.

“Okay, okay, I’m finished. You can open them now,” Lestat finally said, a little winded.

Louis saw before him an old painting, dated 1820. He saw Lestat, himself, and Claudia, smiling and holding each other’s hands. Two fathers and a daughter, immortal and beautiful, had their likenesses hung on a nail across from their bed. Lestat had not been particular. It was a bit crooked, a bit off-center, but for once, this did not make Louis uncomfortable. Lestat had hung this painting up once more, as it hadn’t been for over 150 years. They would see it every day, the minute they lifted their heads from a deathlike sleep, as they had once in Rue Royale. This painting, this beautiful, cursed, blessed masterpiece, had been placed on the wall by the very man who commissioned it, still as proud of it as he was when it was new.

Louis was once more at a loss for words, but no tears stung his eyes, nor did a sob penetrate his breath. The shock of its discovery was passed, leaving only admiration and love. And still Louis’ mouth hung open, and he finally looked to Lestat, open mouth forming a wide grin.

“Do you like it?” Lestat whispered, taking Louis’ hands, “I suppose you do.”

Louis only nodded vigorously, then almost leapt upon him, finally saying “thank you thank you thank you,” between the kisses he gifted to him.

And there the painting stayed, the final touch to Louis and Lestat’s proper bedroom. The others, when seeing it as they walked in, would comment on its artistry, and say, “So that’s Claudia? What a precious thing she is.” Armand was the only one who made no comment, only staring up at the piece in sober recollection. Louis would never mention this to Lestat, for fear of being teased, but he couldn’t help but feel safer knowing that it was hanging up there as he slept. Lestat must have felt the same way, for he seemed to speak of less and less nightmares, always waking up gleeful and rested. The only time it was a problem for them was while they were making love, but a carefully placed sheet made that an easy fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty long chapter for you to make up for a bit of a long break. I’m on vacation rn and am actually doing things now haha. But I’m proud of my descriptive prose here after all the other dialogue-driven chapters oops. Also more self-indulgent hurt/comfort nonsense in which two vampire husbands cry like little babies.


	6. Speculative Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat wants to write again, but laments how he has no more life stories to tell. A suggestion from Gabrielle would change that, however. We also get an insight as to why those later VC installments are the way they are.

Lestat, for at least 30 minutes a night, would go into his room and sit at his desk. He had gotten a new Macintosh computer as a gift from Daniel, and enjoyed toying around with its almost endless functions. Sometimes he would spend hours on the calculator function, but most of the time he tried to write. This usually led to him staring in front of an empty screen and sulking until Louis or Gabrielle managed to peel him away from his chair through either bribery, distraction, or seduction on Louis’ part. After finishing his second book, the third in the great chronicle of his and Louis’ (but mostly his) adventures, he could not bring one more written word into this world.

All this he admitted openly to a good half of the coven members as they were gathered in the living room once more.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my life here,” Lestat sighed, glancing at Armand, “But there’s no more adventure! I have everything I have ever wanted now, so what is there left to wish for?”

This incited a general eye-roll from everyone who was unfortunate enough to be within earshot. Armand even sneered “You’re welcome,” dripping in sarcasm.

“Ugh, you know that’s not what I meant, you idiots,” Lestat whined, pouting, “Just forget it.”

“Gladly,” Armand responded, getting up and walking straight out the front door. They all heard the sound of one of his yacht’s motors revving up. This incited another eye-roll and mild spattering of giggles.

Slowly the conversation moved along, Lestat inserting himself into the center of it, as per usual. Then it began to die down, all of them spreading out to be on their own once more. Even Louis had to run out to feed, after almost forgetting to two nights in a row. After they had all left, the only one who was still with Lestat was his mother, who put her arm around him and kissed his cheek. Lestat did the same, giving her a giddy grin. “Je suis content que tu sois là, maman,” he told her.

“Oui, me too,” She replied, “I’m sorry I’m always going to and fro from here. It’s just that Jesse—” Her words trailed off, and she looked away, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, maman,” Lestat groaned, still smiling, “Of course I know how much you like her, just have fun, alright? I was only saying it’s nice to see you around.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you too, my love,” Gabrielle said as she hugged him tightly, Lestat playfully pretending to suffocate from the crushing strength of her embrace.

“Don’t you and Louis ever leave Night Island?” She continued.

“Oh, not too much, actually,” Lestat replied, “Louis doesn’t enjoy travel, which is such a drag, but, you know, it’s actually given me a chance to create some sort of permanence with him again, like we had in New Orleans. It’s nice to stay here, though it can get crowded sometimes.”

“I see. Louis was always a slow, gentle type. Not quite as energetic as you. I always thought he was good for you.”

Lestat’s smile softened, and he looked down, picturing Louis and his piercing, firm but engrossing green eyes, “Yes, I think he is. Truthfully, I don’t know where I would be without him…” Lestat paused, then his face brightened sincerely once more to add, “But, to be fair, I don’t know where I’d be without you either. You and Louis tend to keep my feet on the ground.”

“As long as no one puts you in charge of anything or gives you any sort of authority you are hardly a danger to anyone.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Gabrielle sighed, amused, “But I’m sad to hear you’ve got writer’s block,” She played with a piece of Lestat’s hair, so like her own, “You have such a gift. I’d hate to see it go, even though you do tend to exaggerate.”

“Artistic license, maman, just a pinch.”

“The point is, I don’t see why you can’t keep writing stories.”

Lestat groaned, “That’s the thing, I can’t just  _ make up _ a whole new story and brand new characters and everything. I can’t just  _ create _ a new person out of thin air. I can only write what I know, and everything else is just a disaster.”

There was a brief pause. Gabrielle stared at her son, brow furrowed. Then she said, “Well, how about you just keep writing about yourself.”

Lestat sighed again, “I already told you, my story has already been told. It’s all over for me.”

“Not necessarily,” Gabrielle raised an eyebrow and smirked, “What would you do if you, say, switched bodies with someone? Or met the Devil, or something? You know yourself best, so just write a story about  _ you _ , and the rest will follow.”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Lestat’s head, and his mouth dropped open, “You mean, like I just make up a story, and throw all of us in there?”

“Yeah,” Gabrielle nodded, “Call it ‘speculative fiction’.”

“Oh, mother, tu es brillant!” Lestat cried, kissing her forehead and leaping from the sofa to his room. There he would stay for the rest of the night, leaving his desk only when the sun threatened to rise once more.

* * *

It was two weeks later when Lestat leaned back from his computer and groaned loudly, allowing himself to tumble from his chair onto the floor. Louis, who was in the room looking for a book to show to Marius, asked him if he was okay.

Lestat looked up from his position, still on the floor, “Oh my darling angel, my sweet dove, my dark rose—”

“Yes, yes, I know all your pet names for me, but what is the matter?”

“Nothing, dearest Louis, nothing’s the matter. And I’m more than okay! I finished it, Louis, love!”

“You mean the story you’ve been writing?” Louis’ eyebrow raised a bit, a smile tempting his lips.

“My  _ book _ , Louis, it’s a book,” Lestat grunted, shuffling to his feet, stretching out his back and his fingers, wrists, neck, “And yes, it’s finally done! Oh, I can finally relax.”

“It’s all done? Meaning it’s been edited and proofread, or you just finished the story?”

Lestat groaned again, rolling his eyes, “No, Louis, it hasn’t been proofread and edited and all that bullshit, sorry to disappoint,” He said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come now, I had no intention of raining on your parade, as they say,” Louis hummed, strolling over to kiss Lestat’s frowning face, “May I read it, love?”

Lestat shrugged at first, then gasped, “Oh! I should print it out first. Do we even have a printer?”

“I’m sure Armand can buy one if we don’t.”

“Ugh, I would like to buy something for myself for a change.”

“Oh, says Monsieur I-won’t-let-my-lover-buy-anything-for-himself.”

“Like I said a million times before, I ENJOY SPOILING YOU!!”

Louis suddenly grabbed Lestat’s waist with both hands and pulled him towards him, saying in a low growl, “I think it’s unfair that you get to do all the spoiling, hmm?”

Lestat only blushed scarlet and giggled like an idiot.

“I wish you would let me spoil you absolutely rotten,” Louis purred. He listened gleefully as Lestat’s heart rate accelerated like a freight train. All that pomp, swagger, and charisma melted into his giddy expression. Louis leaned close to him, whispering in his ear, “What do you say we don’t tell the others about your achievement just yet, hmm? I say we have a little party of our own before all that praise goes to your head.”

Lestat had already seemed resigned to his fate, his eyes closed and mouth parted in a sigh. He hummed in agreement, then moaned in delight when Louis pierced the soft skin just below his jaw.

* * *

Lestat ended up keeping his first draft unedited, only fixing spelling and grammar errors, expressing a desire to keep his work “raw”. The others all figured he was just too lazy to edit the whole thing. And they were right.

Lestat was enjoying being able to break a few house rules again, and took it to the next level by sending his story, titled  _ Tale of The Body Thief _ , to his publisher. Fans of the first three books were overjoyed at the return of their, now truly fictional, vampire hero. He was receiving fan mail again, he was being talked about in the newspaper, and he saw it on display in the bookstores Louis would drag him to. Sometimes its cover art would match those of the volumes before it, making for a lovely display. The whole affair made Lestat positively giddy, and inspired him to continue the fabricated adventures of a vampire sharing nothing but his name.

Louis and Gabrielle tried their best to read each book Lestat put out into the world, Louis enjoying the scenes between him and the main character, but they both struggled with the books’ seemingly depleting quality. All of the ancient vampires, save Marius, could not continue past  _ Body Thief _ . The younger ones did not bother with them at all. Lestat had changed his fictional twin in terrifying ways. The vampire who hated rules, desired only love, and no power, wrote a Lestat who made the rules, desired submission, and hungered for power. He also assigned this fate to his companions, making every character the worst version of themselves that they could be.

One night Louis brought this up.

“So how will I be enabling you in this volume?”

“Oh, I don’t know, my love,” Lestat looked over his shoulder to Louis, who was observing his progress on the computer monitor, “Maybe I’ll just kill you off,” He said with a grin and flourish, kissing the other’s cheek.

“I’m sure your fans would simply adore you for that,” Louis said, rolling his eyes but accepting Lestat’s affection.

“Ah my fans, my loving fans,” Lestat sung, “How they grumble at me,” He laughed.

“I don’t know how you stand all that criticism, though. I thought you wanted everyone to love you.”

Lestat spun around in his chair to take Louis’ hands, “Oh but remember my rock band, Louis? How all those vampires just wanted me dead? There’s no passion quite like hate, my dear.”

“You are impossible to understand, but I digress, whatever floats your boat, if that’s the correct phrase.”

Lestat seemed to ignore him, continuing, “Hate and love are very similar things, Louis, and you know how much I love chaos. Don’t you remember? It was your despise for me in those early days that made you such a… passionate and intense lover.”

“All of a sudden, you speak like a philosopher. And…” Louis sighed, resigned and a bit embarrassed, “Yes, it seems my attempts to shut you up were unfortunately a part of your plan anyway,” He sneered at him, “Manipulative bastard.”

“Oh, but that first time was nothing short of magical…”

“Lestat…”

“…It was as if all that deepened anger all of a sudden came up…”

“…Please stop talking.”

“Only one way to do that, mon coeur,” Lestat winked and grinned, tongue clamped between his teeth.

Louis scoffed, “Save it for your novels,” And he walked to the other side of the room, where he sat down on an armchair, rubbing his head before picking up his Jane Austen novel.

Lestat exhaled loudly and looked up to the painting still hanging opposite their bed. “Claudia, darling,” He whined, “Your father’s being difficult again, what shall I do?”

“Don’t listen to papa, ma fille,” Louis said, not looking up, “He’s just trying to be a tease again,” he glared at Lestat, making direct eye contact, “And it won’t work.”

Lestat laughed, but he was defeated, and turned back to the computer, the soft, steady tapping of the keys replacing the sounds of their voices. Louis looked up every once in a while at him. His uncontrollable, yellow hair was tied into a ponytail, high, like how women wore it. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his posture frightfully bad. His feet, sheathed by mismatched socks, softly padded the carpet below him, making almost no sound. Louis found himself distracted by him, not an uncommon occurrence, but always a surprising one.

It was true, what Lestat had said earlier. He did know how to fire Louis up, drive him mad with disdain, then turn the fires of anger to those of passion and desire. Their tete a tete had elicited this very effect in Louis. But he had resisted, walked away, and now the moment was over. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Might as well calm yourself, he thought. He was very grateful Lestat could not see into his mind. Then he would know no peace, have no escape. He was still listless, however, and still wanted to talk to Lestat. He was genuinely curious about the characters’ strange development.

“You made me forget my original question, dear,” Louis finally said.

“Sorry?” Lestat turned to look at him, whipping his head around as though he were on a roller coaster, eyes wide and apprehensive, like a deer in headlights.

“I wanted to ask you why you made all of us so dreadful in your series.”

“Dreadful? I wouldn’t call them dreadful, that’s a tad disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“Lestat, please…”

“Yes, yes, alright, I know.”

Lestat paused and took a deep breath. “Well,” He said, “After Akasha… you know… we all came to Night Island, right? And since then there have been no great calamities or incidents to cause us any further damage to our lives. We’ve all had a chance to… heal. And we have each other to heal and reconcile with.

“But what if we didn’t have that? What if things just kept happening, one after the other, and we were all just swept along by it? You saw what I became when times were like that for me. What if that just kept happening? Don’t you think we’d all become divided and warped? I write the worst I’ve seen in our friends, and I magnify it. I suppose I’m just glad this isn’t our life.

“If I had stayed with Akasha, if I hadn’t begged her to take me to all of you, then she might have turned me into what I am in these stories. I don’t want that, I have never wanted it. And writing this has made me want it all the less. And… with you, you’re so strong, Louis, you really are. I’ve seen you grow tremendously, the first time being when you left me to go overseas.”

“Oh, Lestat, I wouldn’t say that was me being strong—”

“But you finally refused to let me control you, didn’t you? You stood up to me, dared to leave. And then, when you refused to come back to me in 1929, you did it again.” He gestured at Louis to shut up when he tried to protest again, “Trust me, I needed that. We both did. I’m glad we spent so many years apart. Because you were stronger when you actually did come back to me. And I was kinder when you found me again. This is the best it has ever been for us, I think. And that’s because we’ve had time to heal and actually  _ talk _ . If we didn’t have that, I think you might have crawled back into your shell. I’m eternally grateful this isn’t the case.”

Louis was stunned at this astute answer. But it all made perfect sense, seeing as that was what began to happen with Lestat after he had left him. He was worried it was a sort of unspoken fantasy, a secret dream borne from dissatisfaction. But Lestat had never acted as such, never displayed any unhappiness on his sleeve where his heart so proudly lay. No, it was the opposite. Lestat began to skip through the house and on the beach. He liked holding Louis’ hand more, fearing his pearly skin less and less. And his books had given him that, a place to put all the fear into the world, instead of in his heart.

Lestat spoke up again. “And I suppose I try to write things that will anger people the most, as well,” He laughed heartily, eyes squinted shut.

And so the introspection ended, the yellow-haired demon’s addition creating a lighter atmosphere in which Louis rolled his eyes and joined him in laughter, running over to kiss him with a hum. This kiss caused Lestat to once more fall out of his chair, and they both tumbled to the floor in a fit of giggles and kisses. Soon, though, the laughter faded, but they were still on the floor, in each other’s arms.

“Mmm,” Louis buried his nose into Lestat’s curly mane. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy, mon amour,” He whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“Great,” Lestat whispered back, “That’s great. Let’s move to the bed, though.”

They did, and resumed their previous position, this time with a duvet, and without pants.

Louis ran his hands along the curve of Lestat’s hips, up and down his lovely form as they sometimes talked, sometimes kissed, sometimes dozed off. Sometimes he would hug Lestat tightly, tangling their legs together and burying his head into his neck. But mostly they just fell into each other, haphazardly, without thought of anything else. They would pass days like this, never leaving their room the whole night, always touching, gently kissing. And if they succumbed to the desire love can bring, their embrace was as easy and natural as falling asleep. Louis read, Lestat wrote, they both talked, shared a glance. It was to be like this for years to come, and they both knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Je suis content que tu sois là, maman”—I’m glad you’re here, mama  
> “Tu es brilliant”—You are brilliant
> 
> Author’s Note:  
> This was a bit of a fix-it chapter haha. The ending of QOTD really wrapped up the series so nicely and I wish it ended there, so here’s what all the rest of those books were! There it is just wrap it in a little bow everything after QOTD is fake except maybe Lestat gets a dog but shh that’s a secret. Extra hurt/comfort fluff in the next one. It’s the home stretch, people!!


	7. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four instances when Lestat’s pain was softened by the support of his friends. They all learned long ago that what happened will never fully go away, so they all just do their best to be there for each other. Here, Louis, Gabrielle, Armand, and Marius give him shoulders to cry on, kittens to play with, and music to sing to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestat, in this installment, displays a good majority of PTSD symptoms, so a bit of a content warning: I depict Lestat having a panic attack, but it’s in the POV of someone else, so it’s not that descriptive of what exactly he is thinking and feeling. I also describe a nightmare he has, this time in his POV. Idk if anyone is sensitive to these sort of things, but I just wanted to give a fair warning. Love you all 😘

“Breathe.”

Of course he was breathing, Louis thought to himself, but it was all he could think of to say.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths,” He repeated as Lestat wheezed and tears streamed down his face. Seeing him like this made Louis want to cry, but he just breathed slowly and deep, hoping Lestat would try to mimic him.

He rubbed his back gently and told him to sit down, put his head between his knees. Lestat gripped his chest and continued to wheeze, sobbing, “I’m going to die, oh God, I’m going to die, my heart, I can’t breathe,” over and over.

“You _can_ breathe, Lestat, just focus on your breathing, you’re not going to die,” Said Louis.

“Is everything alright?” Daniel had heard Lestat’s labored breathing and had rushed into the room, wearing only one shoe.

Louis shushed him and told him everything was fine. “Panic attack,” He whispered.

Daniel sighed sympathetically and nodded, tiptoeing out of the library. Louis heard him speaking in the other room, “Lestat’s having another panic attack, Louis’ taking care of it.”

Louis focused his attention back to the man crumpled next to him, who’s breathing had become more steady, his eyes snapped shut. He inhaled and exhaled sharply and deeply from his nose, hand still pressed to his heart. Louis had seen no trigger to cause such a fit, no reason to completely break down, but this was not uncommon. His only concern was that he didn’t know how to lessen their frequency. Lestat would have panic attacks two, sometimes three times a week, often without any visible reason, trigger, or warning. Louis tried to avoid blaming himself, but a knife pierced his heart each time he failed to prevent an attack, or his reassurances fell on deaf ears. For now, however, he put all that out of his head, focusing all his energy on soothing Lestat in any way he could.

The panic attack had completely passed within two minutes, and Lestat was left pale and gaunt.

“Do you want to feed?” Louis whispered.

“God no, I can’t go out and do that,” Lestat replied, his diaphragm still spasming from the exertion of his sobbing.

“You must have something, it would make you feel better.”

“I already feel better.”

“Why don’t you drink from me, hmm? I can take it, don’t worry,” Louis laughed softly.

Lestat did not laugh. “No, Louis, I don’t want to impose…”

“Come on,” said Louis, helping him up, “It would put me at ease.”

Lestat sighed as they walked towards their bedroom. “Alright, but only a little,” He said quietly, “I really don’t need that much.”

Louis did not respond, and shut the door. He sat down on the bed and patted the area next to him, where Lestat sat obediently. Louis put his arm around him and took his fangs to his other arm, breaking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist.

“Hurry, before it heals up,” He said, lifting his arm to Lestat’s face, where he felt his cold lips close around the wound as he grasped the hand tightly to his mouth.

Louis felt himself begin to swoon, and he silenced his heavy breathing. Sensual as the act was, he knew his arousal would be the last thing Lestat needed.

But thankfully, the moment was over in half a minute, Lestat disconnecting himself with a small _pop_ as he threw his head back. His golden curls flipped back in a perfect arc. Louis brought his wrist back to himself, rubbing it like it was sore. 

Lestat exhaled and his heart rate slowed. “You were right,” He said, eyes closed, “That did help. Thank you, darling.”

“Ah, see?” Louis cooed, “I told you. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, very much. Thank you, again. God, I’m so humiliated.”

“Hush, love, we all understand. It happens to all of us from time to time.”

“But…” Lestat started, but his words trailed off, having had this conversation before. Instead he sighed and kissed Louis before going to wash his face and hands.

* * *

It had been two nights since Louis had left for Greece with Gabrielle. Louis had never been, and Gabrielle was adamant that Lestat not accompany them, wanting him to get some writing done. They would be back the next night, but that did not stop Lestat from missing them terribly. He had not slept alone for almost a year, and the solitude was difficult to bear.

Nevertheless, his days had been peaceful and calm, filled with dreamless sleep. He hummed to himself after switching off the television and saying good day to Jesse and Daniel.

 _One more day_ , he told Jesse without speaking, who nodded and smiled in reply, despite a slight blush on her cheeks. Her thoughts were a rush of Gabrielle’s face, her voice, and her bushy hair. She wasn’t allowed on the trip either.

Though there was no real need for one, Lestat had drawn a bath. He sank deep into the foamy water, letting its heat shock his cold body. He still had an hour before sunrise, but he was sure he was the only vampire still awake in the villa. The bathroom was deathly quiet, and Lestat was grateful that the hum of the air conditioner, blowing cool air through the vent on the ceiling, provided some white noise. Without it, he felt he would go crazy from the silence.

“ _Hold me close and hold me fast_ ,” He sang to himself, “ _The magic spell you cast, this is La Vie En Rose…_

_“When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see La Vie En Rose…”_

Louis smiling, giving him a rare laugh, eyes bright and thoughtful.

“ _When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart, a world where roses bloom…”_

Louis danced with Claudia in the parlor. He lifted her up and twirled her, her tiny dress flaring out like the wings of a swan. Lestat’s voice rose.

“ _And when you speak, angels sing from above, everyday words seem to turn into love songs…”_

Louis, walking out of the mist after almost 55 years. Worn sweater. Hands in his pockets.

“ _Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be, La Vie En Rose…”_

Lestat felt pathetic. He hummed the melody once more, then tried to sing its original French version, but he could not remember the words, so he went back to humming the melody. He felt like an idiot, pining after a lover who would be returning to him after only four nights. He flicked a few bubbles into the air. They whizzed into the air before gently floated back into the bathtub. He frowned. Baths were more fun with company.

When he started to feel drowsy, he got up out of the tub and toweled off, putting on a new pair of shorts and one of Louis’ t-shirts, which still smelled like him. Lestat pulled the hem of this shirt over his nose to breathe it in as he walked out of the bathroom that connected to his room.

He sighed and whispered, “One more day,” before climbing under the beautiful silk sheets. He took a pillow from Louis’ side of the bed and held it to his chest, and finally the deathsleep overtook him.

 _Water, deep down. He was bleeding. Who? Why was he bleeding? Who cut through his throat? Can’t breathe, can’t see. Kill them. Kill her. Stop. I won’t, I love them. The water was hot, boiling, melting the very flesh from his bones. It was fire now. Why was it fire? Why am I still bleeding? He wanted to scream but his mouth was filled with sand and murky soil when he opened it. She’s not dead. Please don’t be dead. But who was it? People should stay dead, should disappear. The woman whispered in his ear. Silky hair, silky voice. She was speaking a language he couldn’t understand. He pushed her away and it was his mother. She started to cry and turned her back on him. She walked outside where the sun shone. His mouth was still full of sand. He was still bleeding, bleeding. Please stop bleeding. Gabrielle screamed and the tips of her fingers were in flames. Her face was melting off of her skull. She couldn’t scream anymore. She deserves this. No, please don’t kill her. They all deserve it. Please don’t kill my mother. But he couldn’t move his legs. A great weight crushed against his head and he looked at his mother but she was Claudia now. She screamed “papa” and she cried. That’s my daughter. She wanted to die, Lestat. Please please don’t kill her, she’s only a child. Tell me who you are. Then a figure ran past him, and it was Louis. He didn’t speak or even look at Lestat. He was emotionless as he ran into the sun and hugged Claudia. But Claudia wasn’t speaking either. He tried to scream again, pushing his words against the sand in his lungs. Let me be with them. I want to die with them. Don’t you want to die with me? Who_ are _you? Why do they deserve it? He was knocked to the ground and the Queen lifted him into her arms. Her head was bleeding. She had no eyes. Lestat could finally scream._

His scream bled into the setting sun and his eyes opened. White ceiling, wooden posts. Red silk sheets. His sweat stained them. Where’s Louis? There was no one next to him. Louis still wasn’t back from Greece. He was in Greece. Gabrielle was in Greece, too. Lestat was still in Armand’s villa on Night Island. Akasha was still dead. Calm down.

He sat up slowly and took a few deep breaths through his nose. He put a hand to his breast and stood up, shuffling to the bathroom where he splashed cold water onto his face. He was walking back into his room, drying his face and hair with a towel when he heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” Lestat said.

Armand was behind the door. He walked in but kept his hand on the handle. “You woke us up,” He muttered, frowning, “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Said Lestat.

“You sure? That was quite a bloodcurdling scream.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you, though. Have Louis or Gabrielle called?”

Armand’s frown softened somewhat. “Yes, actually, they’re flying back. They should be in before dawn this morning.”

“Oh thank God, I was starting to go crazy,” Lestat sighed, smiling.

Then an awkward silence fell between them, and Armand didn’t move from his position. They both were looking to the floor or at the walls, anywhere but each other.

Lestat finally broke that silence. “Um, anything else you want to talk about?”

Armand didn’t answer. After a second or two he looked up at him and asked, “Was that a nightmare, Lestat?”

“… Yes, alright, it was, but I’m fine now, it was just a dream.”

Lestat could sense Armand’s concern. He silently told him that what he said was the truth. It did nothing. But Armand spoke up again, “Hey, I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” Lestat chuckled, putting down the towel and walking out of the room with Armand. He became very aware that he was in his underwear, but he pushed through the minor embarrassment. It had never stopped him before. He asked Armand what it was he wanted to show him, but he got no reply, only that it was a surprise.

Marius was in the kitchen and greeted him gingerly, asking where they were going. Armand then turned around and said, “I’m going to show him _the thing_.”

Marius’s eyes lit up and his lips widened into a small grin. He walked with them into his room, where Lestat saw what he expected to see: red velvet everywhere. It was a very large bedroom, and ornately decorated. Armand motioned the others to stay put while he moved ahead into a corner of the room, where there was a small crate. Lestat felt Marius’s hand squeeze his shoulder slightly.

“We wanted to surprise everyone once Louis and Gabrielle got back,” Armand said, smiling giddily. He was pulling the crate out onto his bed. “But I think you should know.” He opened the hinged door of the crate, and it whined like the squeak of a rusty gate, “Well, while Marius was out last night, he rescued a stray kitten whose mother had been hit by a car. And he took her home with him. He washed her up and fed her, and we want to keep her.”

He reached into the back of the crate and pulled out a tiny kitten, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. She was screaming loudly, but didn’t seem frightened. She was a calico, with patches of red, brown, black, and yellow blotted all over her coat. Her eyes were bright orange.

Lestat let out a gasp. He felt overwhelmed at how precious she looked. Marius was saying something about how she was so young she had to be bottle-fed, but Lestat was hardly listening.

Armand sat down on his bed and withdrew a small bottle from a bedside table. He held the cat like an infant and allowed her to suck from its contents, it’s tiny eyes closing.

Lestat and Marius climbed into the bed as well. Lestat finally found his voice, stuttering, “D-does she have a name?”

Armand shook his head, eyes still gazing at the kitten, “We can’t decide. I want something short and simple, but Marius won’t agree with me.”

“I just really believe she looks like a ‘Cassandra’. She doesn’t deserve a name like ‘Spot’ or ‘Patch’.” Marius whispered to Lestat.

“She’s a _cat_ , I’m sure she won’t mind.”

They just rolled their eyes at each other, and watched as the kitten finished all the formula in the bottle. She did not mew loudly anymore, obviously satisfied. Armand set her down onto the bed and gently rubbed her little head, trying not to put too much weight on it. She tottered and stumbled around, her paws a bit too big for her body. She finally made her way towards Lestat, looking up at him and mewing.

This brought tears to his eyes, and he scratched under her chin, cooing and talking softly to her. She was purring now, her eyes snapped shut once more. She rolled onto her back and waved her legs around, her fuzzy belly tempting Lestat’s hand. When he did touch it, she predictably attacked him, her tiny mouth wrapping around one of his fingers, and her claws splayed across his palm. “Oh my!” Lestat said playfully, pulling his finger away. She continued to bat at it, her pupils extremely dilated. Her little tail was twisting and flicking back and forth, and she fell on her back as she jumped for her prey.

Lestat was giggling uncontrollably. Fear? Who’s that? Anxiety? Goodbye! The only thing in the world was this little kitten that was squealing continuously. “Oh come on, you two, we have to name her!” He whined.

“It’s your decision,” Armand shrugged, “I won’t care one way or another, as long as it’s not ‘Cassandra’.”

Marius snickered and playfully pushed Armand to the side.

Lestat looked down at the little calico with orange eyes. It was really the first name that popped into his head. “Sandy?”

“Aww, Sandy’s lovely,” Marius had answered.

“Mmm,” hummed Armand.

Okay, it’s Sandy then. Lestat lifted her into his hands and kissed the top of her head softly. “Thank you, Armand… I think I needed this.”

Armand only smiled, amber eyes half-lidded.

* * *

Gabrielle looked up from the piano when she heard raised voices coming from Lestat’s room. It was rare for those two to argue. The door opened and Louis stormed out of the room, down the hall, and out the door. Lestat was left in there, face beet-red. He growled and sunk to the floor, taking a cushion from the bed and screaming into it. She stood slowly, walking towards him. She knocked softly on the door, still ajar.

“What.” Lestat said cooly, shoving the cushion away.

“Everything alright?” She asked him.

“We had a fight, obviously.”

“I can see that,” She sat down on the floor next to him, but did not touch him.

His brow furrowed, and his eyes became a bit glassy. “It was all my stupid fault anyways,” He muttered, “I tease him too much. Guess he’d had enough this time.”

Gabrielle agreed but didn’t voice that opinion. Instead she said, “Where did he go?”

Lestat waved his hand in the direction Louis had gone. “Out. He needed to feed anyways.”

She nodded and cautiously put her hand on his, which he squeezed. She knew this wouldn’t last long. Her son and Louis, whenever they did fight, never fought for long; it was over as soon as it began. It didn’t mean feelings weren’t hurt, though.

Lestat folded his arms together, muttering, “It’s all so stupid. So _fucking stupid_.”

With this he grimaced, and his eyes brimmed with tears. Gabrielle felt her chest tighten. She became desperate, feeling as though she would cry herself. She took a deep breath, however, and reached out to rub the back of his head. He did not protest, and her fingers moved down to massage the back of his neck, piercing through his thick, yellow hair. His head fell into her lap and he began to cry softly. But he wasn’t sobbing as she feared he would, only whimpering and sniffling.

“Shhh… Lestat, mon amour, shh…” She whispered.

She felt useless when people cried. And Lestat cried a lot. He liked to wallow. Sometimes he needed to, most of the time he only believed he needed to. Gabrielle couldn’t tell what he needed right now, but she wished he would stop crying.

She heard herself hum. Then her hums turned into words. A song that was over ten, maybe fifteen years old now, but a song she loved. A song she knew all the words to.

“ _Almost Heaven, West Virginia,_ ” She sang, “ _Blue-ridge Mountain, Shenandoah River._ ”

She was stroking the pile of curly hair in her lap, the hair she had given him. He was still crying, but she continued to sing.

“ _Life is old there, older than the trees._

 _“Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze._ ”

She stopped before she sang the chorus. She whispered, “How’s the chorus start? I can’t remember.” It was a lie, of course she knew the chorus. But she wanted Lestat’s mind off his crying.

He sang, “ _Country Roads…_ ” in a husky voice, muffled by his hair and her jeans.

“That’s it!” Gabrielle said.

They sang softly together, “ _…Take me home, To the place I belong._

 _“West Virginia, Mountain momma, Take me home, Country Roads…_ ”

There they finished the song, moving from the second verse, to the chorus, to the bridge, to the chorus again. Lestat stopped crying but his head did not rise from Gabrielle’s lap. She continued to brush her fingers through his hair, hoping it soothed him.

Once the song was over, Gabrielle could hear Louis’ thoughts. They were exhausted, frustrated, remorseful. Then they both heard the front door open and close. It had been five or six minutes, and he was already back, as Gabrielle had predicted. She took hold of Lestat’s shoulders and told him to stand up, Louis was back. When he did, she walked out of the room just as Louis was walking in. He paid no attention to her as he did, and just as well.

She took her seat back at the piano and heard their muffled voices again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that”, “I can’t stand it when we fight”, and “It’s my fault, my fault” were some of the phrases she had heard, uttered by the both of them. She wondered if Louis had cried too, all alone out on the beach or wherever he went. He hadn’t had time to feed, that was for sure. Gabrielle sighed and just hit the keys once more, making sure to be of sufficient volume to drown out their voices from prying ears. Armand could be so nosy.

* * *

Lestat was cold when Louis woke up beside him, but he was wide awake, he was sure. His eyes were open, albeit halfway, and his breathing was steady. “You haven’t fed?” He asked.

“Nope, didn’t want to,” Was Lestat’s reply, monotone, apathetic, listless.

Shit, Louis thought, it was one of his bad nights. The nights he was so low he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room, sometimes even leave his bed.

“I’m sorry,” He heard Lestat mutter.

“No, no, love, no. You’re alright.”

Lestat only sighed at this, and rolled onto his back. Back in the earlier days, before Louis knew any better, he would become frustrated, and he wanted him to just snap out of it. This wasn’t because of any ignorance, however. It was simply because Louis had seen the same behavior in himself. But he had always been able to overcome it within a few hours, his constant bloody necessity driving him to move.

But Lestat had no such need, thanks to the Queen, though the lust for it existed. But it seemed even this selfish want also disappeared on days like this, leaving him totally devoid, and perfectly physically capable of immobility for hours. It was days like this that Louis worried he would try to go underground again. He didn’t know what that would feel like, and the thought of being alone once more terrified him to this day.

He would try to force him to get up, take him somewhere where he might have some fun. He did everything in the book: exercise, socializing, sex. But it seemed only time would bring him out of these states, and thankfully they only lasted typically one night. Lestat would fall asleep and then wake up completely changed, happy, hyper, mischievous, normal. But it didn’t stop how lonely it made Louis. It was hard to talk to him on days like this; it was as though he had gone away.

Louis felt the hunger throughout his body, an ache that made him feel sick. “I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can,” He told Lestat.

“Mm-hmm.”

He took a car into the city and slinked into an alleyway behind a restaurant, seizing a boy that had stepped out to smoke a cigarette.

In less than an hour he had pulled back into the driveway, warmer now, but still uneasy. It seemed no one else was in the villa with him as he walked through empty rooms. The nicotine in the boy’s bloodstream had surprisingly calmed him, and there he thought of Lestat, how empty he felt, with not even sadness to accompany him. He thought of how lonely he himself would feel tonight. Then he thought of something else, a solution. He could not soften a bad day, but he could ease its passing.

He stepped into their room, not bothering to knock. Lestat had shifted his position, but had not left the bed. He had been drifting in and out of light sleep. Louis changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, which was merchandise from Lestat’s ill-fated concert.

“Hi, cutie,” Lestat said, rubbing his eyes, “You were right, that wasn’t long.”

Louis had blushed at Lestat’s greeting and was glad he was turned away from his gaze. He did, however, give a slight chuckle and said, “Yeah, of course,” in reply. He was drifting over to his bookshelf stuffed with vinyl records,which were now slowly gaining a collection of CDs. He picked out a record, a blues album by various artists, recorded in the mid-thirties.

“I’ll bet you haven’t heard this one before,” Louis said, flashing him a warm smile as he placed the record on their turntable and dropped the needle. The sound quality was terrible; it was muffled, scratchy, and warped. Louis hardly cared, however, and he knew Lestat wouldn’t either, so he turned away from it, climbing into his bed next to Lestat.

“I would have gotten it on CD but I don’t think it was ever reprinted,” he said, more joking than apologetic.

“Ehh…” was Lestat’s response, shrugging.

“Come here, come on,” Louis whispered as he bundled him into his arms. The coldness of his skin felt so refreshing against the warm Miami air, and he buried his face into the crook of Lestat’s neck, the cool surface soothing his flushed face. The soft and despairing croon of the singer’s voice haunted him, but he was glad of it. They both needed the noise, something other than listening to one’s own thoughts. He felt a slight vibration within Lestat’s throat. He was humming, low. An almost feline purr. He nuzzled into Louis’ hair, smelling it, kissing it, before rolling over, turning his bare back to him. Louis wasted no time in pulling Lestat’s waist in to fit right on top of his own, feeling the other’s palms on the back of his hands as he did. He kissed the back of Lestat’s neck, gently, chastely. There was conversation beginning in the living room beyond their door, but Louis paid no mind.

That night, he and Lestat only left their bed to flip the record, change it, or adjust the music’s volume, when, at last, dawn was threatening the horizon, Lestat asked Louis if they could keep the music on as they slept. He unwaveringly agreed, though he suggested they use a CD, and prompt the player to repeat the album once it had played through. That day, they drifted off, dreamt, and awoke to Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.”

This became a routine practice each night, no matter how Lestat was feeling. And when they ran out of things to play, they would buy more. Surprisingly, there were few complaints from the rest of the coven. Louis found himself educating Lestat on all the music he missed in his long sleep, grieving every lost concert experience, every autograph opportunity, the entire life spans of John Lennon and Elvis, not to mention how much Lestat would have loved the Hippie Movement. But he was glad he had been such a diligent collector of music over the years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of the songs sung by these characters which I also do not own. I extended this idea into two chapters, since I wanted to also show how much Lestat loves music and how he likes to annoy people with it lmao. So stay tuned for THAT. Anyways, peace for now, be back soon💕


	8. Well It’s a Beautiful Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestat listens to music all the time and likes to involve Louis, whether he wants to or not. Louis considers getting their own place, and is left speechless when Lestat makes a very personal request.

Lestat had bought himself a Walkman for his birthday. It surprised him that no one else, not even Louis, had one. Louis confessed that he didn’t even know what a Walkman was, which Lestat almost took offense to, seeing how much of a music aficionado he claimed to be. They already had a few tapes, which Lestat played in whichever of Armand’s cars he drove, but he had bought a few more as another birthday present to himself.

Louis was at his wardrobe thumbing through his sweaters when Lestat burst through the door. “Do you know where I can find Daniel?” He half-shouted across the room.

“Lestat, volume,” Louis replied, “And I don’t know, ask Jesse.”

He heard Lestat groan loudly. “Jesse isn’t here!” He said and he stormed out of the room, leaving the door open. Louis didn’t bother trying to listen to what he was saying to the others throughout the villa, and he frankly didn’t care. He wished it were cooler in Florida; he couldn’t wear any of his comfy, oversized sweaters.

That thought was once again shattered to pieces by Lestat’s voice. “Great, so Daniel isn’t here either,” He huffed as he walked into the room again, closing the door this time.

Louis finally settled for a long sleeved cotton shirt. Maybe he should take a trip up north soon. He pulled the shirt off the hanger and turned to Lestat, who had flopped down onto their bed. “What do you need from Daniel, my love?” He chuckled as he pulled off the t-shirt he slept in, “Am I not enough for you?”

“More than enough, believe me,” Lestat said, winking, “But he knows about technology and things.” He was gesturing as he spoke, something Louis always loved to watch. “I love you, but if I asked you how to set up a walkman, you might, I don’t know, cry, or something.”

“Uhm, okay,” Louis giggled once more, pulling the chosen shirt over his head, disheveling his thick hair. He ran a hand through it, which tamed it sufficiently. He sat down across from Lestat. “Can I at least look at it?”

“I just don’t know what all the little buttons do,” Lestat said, handing the device to him.

“You’d probably get it if you just explored it a bit. Some trial and error, you know?”

“I suppose. I just want to get it to work  _ right now _ . I can figure the rest out later.”

“Of course you will,” Louis muttered. The walkman looked simple enough, with play, pause, and stop buttons, similar to those on a VHS. Lestat had bought a pair of headphones as well, and those were admittedly a bit frightening to Louis. He worried about EMF and microwaves and what if it messed up your brain and ruined your hearing and etc etc etc. “Just put a tape in, alright?” He said, “And you can figure it out from there.”

Lestat sighed and got up to retrieve one of the many cassette tapes he had brought into their room. “Let’s see here,” He said, “We’ve got… Peter Gabriel, some Beethoven, um…”

“It doesn’t matter which one, Lestat.”

Lestat held up his index finger to Louis without turning his head or speaking. He finally picked a cassette from the small box, and brought it back over to the bed where Louis reclined. “I don’t know how to open it,” He said, sighing, “I’m scared I’ll break it.”

“The walkman?” Louis asked, “Well, let’s see. There’s probably a button or something that will open it for us.” He picked up the device and fumbled with it in his hands, pressing each button he came across. He looked at the symbols and shapes of each one, attempting to decipher their functions. “Oh, merde!” The tape player had popped open suddenly, causing both Louis and Lestat to flinch. Louis dropped it onto the duvet.

“Mon Dieu, I’m sorry,” Louis gasped, his hand clutching his chest. He hated it when he cursed.

Lestat was silently laughing at him. “Oh, God help us!” There was a thick layer of sarcasm in his voice. “An unforgivable sin! The Lord will smite thee where thee lie, may his wrath be swift and merciful, Loui—”

“—I get it, I get it, you’re very funny, I’m laughing so hard right now—”

Lestat continued, inching closer to him “—I pray I may kiss the lips of Lucifer himself before he is cast into the pit! Where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth—” He put his palm to Louis’ cheek, still giggling like an idiot.

The joke had went on for too long. “Yes, okay, enough,” He tried to say, but Lestat continued. He pushed Lestat’s hand away from his face. He didn’t want to get distracted. “Don’t you want to get the walkman to work? Hm?”

Lestat sighed, his laughter slowly dying down. “Alright, you’re right, you’re right,” He said, humming out the last chuckles at his own joke, “But could I have just one kiss, please?”

“Why? What makes you think I would kiss you after you were being so obnoxious?”

“Because you love me and I asked nicely.”

Louis planted a peck to his cheek. “There. Can we get back to this now?”

Lestat frowned and began to whine, “Louis—”

“Ah ah, there will be more where that came from once we finish this. You were the one who wanted to get it to work  _ right now _ , remember? So let’s get it to work right now before I lose my mind.”

At that, Lestat shrugged and finally backed down. Louis asked for the tape—it was Mozart—then placed it into the open device. “The headphones, Louis,” Said Lestat, reaching over to grab them from beyond the bed. He plugged them into the appropriate jack and placed them over his ears, pushing his curls back as he did. The arch of the headphones pushed back all the hair from his face, revealing it fully. Louis couldn’t see his eyes completely but caught a glimpse of their gray shimmer. His long, pale neck he could see as well, its muscles jutting out slightly as he rolled his head side to side, trying to hear the music. He could see the blood gushing through his arteries. He wanted to taste it.

“Louis, where’s the music?” Lestat was saying, “I can’t hear anything, is it going?”

Louis was forcefully jolted back to where he was, and he muttered an apology before pressing the “play” button. Lestat’s eyes lit up fantastically before he pushed them closed.

“It’s like they’re right in front of me! I can see them if I close my eyes!”

Louis could hear some of the music leaking from the speakers. It didn’t sound any good. It couldn’t possibly sound like it did in person. Lestat took off the headphones and offered them to Louis, which he refused. Lestat got up on his knees and shuffled over to him, forcing them onto his head and over his ears. The sound he heard was nothing short of magical.

He remembered an opera he and Lestat went to in New Orleans. It was actually Claudia’s idea; she wanted to hear Mozart’s last compositions, as he had just recently died. It had brought Lestat to tears, and made Louis’ skin crawl. He later read that the Lacrimosa was the song Mozart wrote as he died. How terrified he must have been, knowing he was about to die. How helpless and weak. It reminded him of his own mortal death. And now it made him think of how Lestat described his death, all alone and afraid. And Claudia’s eternal end. His brother’s fall. Everyone.

Was Lestat feeling the same way? Why had he picked such a macabre piece of music? The sound blasted through his ears and vibrated through his very brain. It was too real, so close. He felt his chest begin to tighten up. Quickly he ripped the headphones off his ears and took a deep breath.

“That was… very intense,” He gasped.

“I know, right?” Lestat took his hand absentmindedly.

Louis decided not to mention his reminiscence. Instead he addressed a different concern. “Aren’t you worried about what these will do to you?”

“What do you mean, darling?”

“I mean, will listening through headphones, with speakers so close to your eardrums, hurt you in some way?”

“What? Oh, Louis, no! Of course not! It might damage a mortal’s hearing, but that’s its only risk. And even if they were dangerous, I highly doubt it would hurt the likes of us, don’t you think?”

Louis now felt stupid for worrying. Of course some noise couldn’t hurt an immortal creature of the night. He sighed in defeat, squeezing Lestat’s hand. “It’s a shame we can’t listen together, though.”

Lestat groaned. “Ugh, I know. Maybe I can get you one, and we can press the play button at the same time.” He was inching closer to him once again, sitting cross-legged so their knees touched.

“We’ll have to buy all the same tapes again, seems wasteful.”

“Mon amour, I am the  _ king _ of wasteful. Anything to make you happy.”

Louis snickered. “Of course,” He sighed and rested his forehead on Lestat’s shoulder. He felt Lestat begin to comb his fingers through his hair and lean against his own head. He hoped he wouldn’t say anything anymore. Lestat didn’t. He just kept on stroking his hair and holding his hand. Louis took his free hand and caressed Lestat’s waist and hip. It was an innocent, sleepy touch, thumbing up underneath his shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, pads of his fingers applying no pressure.

Then Lestat shifted his position, climbing into Louis’ lap, pressing his chest and neck into Louis’ face, his legs spread out behind Louis. But then he resumed his previous activities, as well as Louis, only now Louis had both his arms around him, and Lestat used his free hand to hold his shoulder, his thumb teasing the base of his neck. Still a simple and chaste action, still a silent and sleepy intimacy. Louis lifted his head and placed his chin on the crook of Lestat’s shoulder, opening his eyes. His arms wrapped around him fully, and it reminded him of how slender Lestat really was. It was as if he had melted into him, fitting perfectly.

He let his mind relax and drift away, every thought starting to blur until he understood nothing but his own senses. Though his eyes were closed again he could hear Lestat’s heartbeat, slow, soft. He could hear his silent, warm breaths against his neck. The flyaways in his hair tickled his nose like butterfly kisses. His cotton shirt sheathed the jutting vertebrae of his toned back. The skin was getting cold, but it wasn’t as frigid as it was in the early evening. He could smell Lestat’s blood, the mortal blood he had drunk, as he always could, but he could also smell Lestat. His distinctive smell, unique as a fingerprint. He smelled really, really good.

He nuzzled Lestat’s neck and slowly inhaled that smell through his nose. Blood and Lestat mixed so well. He kissed the region in a dry, yet lingering fashion. Lestat still said nothing (to Louis’ great joy), but he did loosen the embrace, pulling his body back so he could press kisses of his own to Louis’ neck, cheeks, and finally, lips.

Louis was giddy, probably since Lestat was being so quiet. It had been so long since he wasn’t frustrated with him. Though he will admit he secretly goes wild for Lestat’s bratty behavior, the rough and animalistic outcomes of their frustration-fueled passion were fairly exhausting. Rarely had they ever made love, let alone kissed, out of pure joy and serenity. And that’s what this kiss was now. Louis’ heart seemed likely to burst out of his chest. If Lestat had teased him, the fire would be stoked too quickly, and he would devour his lover like he had been starving. Tonight his desire was burning him slowly, like a low flame, making him want to savor each part of Lestat, take his time, as one would delicately pick apart a gourmet dish.

“I love you,” Lestat whispered. It was not a reassurance after distress, nor a reminder after an argument. It wasn’t fueled by the stimulation of the body, a sentence forced out alongside a climax. No, this was a coherent statement. Sober, simple, sensual. He said this and only this, before his lips were on Louis’ face and neck once more. Louis felt his stomach flutter violently and his heart ache joyfully. He loved him too, Christ Jesus, he loved him with all his spirit. How could he say what his heart felt?  _ I love you too _ couldn’t possibly be enough.

“Je t’aime,” Louis finally mumbled back. He pressed soft and gentle kisses on Lestat’s face and jaw. His hands caressed the sides of his face, ran down his neck. His touches were so light they almost weren’t there; he feared he would bruise Lestat somehow. His heart would break if he were to leave a blemish on Lestat’s ivory skin. He traced the backs of his fingers across Lestat’s face as their lips met once again. His lips were soft, supple, full. He smiled against them, enjoying their taste.

He stopped himself from biting into that pale skin once there was no more cotton to sheath Lestat’s slender yet toned torso. The fire was growing hotter, he was slowly being burned alive, but he dare not accelerate the process. He dare not let this become just like another ravenous punishment for Lestat’s teasing. Blood would send him over the edge, replace his mind with his instinct. No, he wanted to hold Lestat, feel Lestat. He kissed him just below the collarbone. He could feel his own shirt being tugged at, and he stopped to remove it slowly, gently. He realized he had been holding his breath.

His lips sprung and danced across Lestat’s chest and neck. He did not open his mouth upon his skin, except to breathe. All the while, Lestat was sighing peacefully, and humming out the suggestions of laughter. Louis’ ghostly touch had been tickling him slightly, and goosebumps were present all across his arms and back. He was enjoying the change of pace as well. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t spoken a word. Usually he would chatter loudly to provoke Louis, make him want to silence him in any way he could. Maybe he was considering that, but Louis couldn’t tell just by looking at him.

Finally, Lestat did break the silence. “Drink, it’s okay.”

Lestat’s voice had been low and husky, an unintentional quirk that was undeniably attractive. Louis whispered, “Are you sure, my darling? I don’t want to—”

“—Drink from me.” It was a demanding tone, though still in a low voice.

Louis felt like he had a fever. He was sure his face was flushed bright pink from all sensory teasing he had bestowed upon Lestat, the anticipation they had both built.

He pierced the skin he had until now been so careful to preserve, taking only a mouthful. He then he rose to his knees, taking Lestat with him, and leaned forward, slowly lowering his lover onto his back, where he would lie for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Once Lestat had worked out all of the kinks in his Walkman, he took it everywhere. Though he didn’t listen to it everywhere, it was always clipped to the side of his pants, a wire trailing up to the headphones curled around his neck. Louis found that it seemed to set off his other fashion choices, but he didn’t feel it was right to say anything. After all, he did tend to bring reading material with him wherever he went, so, to each his own.

He and Lestat still listened to music on speaker each night, but now, whenever he wasn’t otherwise engaged, Lestat had his headphones in. Sometimes it meant bobbing his head up and down as he went for a walk, but most of the time it meant singing or lip-syncing the lyrics to various rock songs, and/or dancing in wild and obnoxious ways, in common areas of the villa. Without hearing the music he was so enthralled by, to an observer he would look positively foolish, and this embarrassed Louis to no end.

It was on a breezy Tuesday night that Lestat had found a new way to humiliate him. Louis and Gabrielle had been taking a walk along the beach, letting the waves bathe their bare feet. Gabrielle was funny and talkative, but more mellow than her son. She wore jeans and a plain short-sleeved button-up, which hid her figure, and her hair was clipped short that night, as she had done once in a while. Louis was both intrigued and intimidated by her androgyny, and could understand why Lestat was so seduced by it when she was first turned.

But though she commanded awe and respect, she was very friendly to Louis, a privilege not shared by many in the coven. Perhaps it was his intelligence, introversion, or maybe simply his connection to Lestat, but he was grateful nonetheless. He saw how cold and cordial she was to Santino, Eric, and Mael, and even though she was beginning to warm up to him, Armand was terrified of her.

“...And then she tried to tiptoe past me,  _ me _ . Of course I followed her,” She was saying, relaying one of many anecdotes, either about Jesse or Lestat, “It turns out, she had bought me a glass dolphin for my birthday, but it broke and she had to return it.”

“And you thought she was leaving you?”

“Yes! It’s all so silly when I think about it, but it tore me up at the time.”

“Where is she now? I haven’t seen her around,” Louis asked.

“She’s at our apartment in New York, I think. I’m going to fly over there tomorrow night.”

“You two have an apartment?”

Gabrielle laughed, “Yeah, we do. I love staying here but it’s also really fun to explore a new scene together, you know?”

Come to think of it, a lot of those in the coven had places elsewhere. Armand certainly did, but he tended to stay at Night Island. It was the same with Marius. But Daniel would be away for months on end, as well as Maharet, Mael, and Eric. It seemed like the only ones who stayed there primarily were him, Lestat, Marius, Pandora, and Armand.

The thought of having a whole place to himself, and Lestat of course, excited him. He made a note to mention it to Lestat the next time he saw him.

Soon they had circled back around to the villa, Gabrielle putting her key into the lock and holding the door open for him. He blushed at this courtesy usually reserved for women, but did not address it. They were continuing their conversation in the living room when he noticed Gabrielle look over his shoulder. He couldn’t even turn around before he felt himself being lifted off his feet, into the arms of his very own Lestat.

He was spun around, then Lestat launched himself into the air, jumping up and down as if he were on the moon. Louis was understandably furious and struggled at first, then clung to him for dear life once they left the floor. Lestat was singing again, a song Louis couldn’t recognize, probably Queen.

“Lestat—” Louis shouted at him. He was drowned out by the lyrics no one but Lestat could hear as they both glided to the floor. “Lestat, what the fuck are you doing??”

Gabrielle let out a single shriek of laughter. Lestat gave him one look of dramatic shock, then resumed his dancing, hands gripping Louis’ wrists.

Louis felt the need to wring himself from Lestat’s grasp and scream abuse at him. He was about to, when he stopped to look at Lestat’s face: happy. Scheming, arrogant, but happy. He was only dancing with him. He was dancing unpredictably and mumbling the verses he hadn’t memorized. It wasn’t the first time he was spun into a dance like this. It happened in New Orleans all the time, and each time Louis had let it ruin his day. He sighed and relaxed the protective tension in his body, determined to endure this until the song ended.

When the song finally did end, Lestat’s movement’s slowed, and he panted loudly. He grabbed Louis’ face and kissed him sloppily, humming against his mouth and removing himself with a small  _ smack _ . Louis struggled against this kiss, worried that Gabrielle was still in the room, but she had jogged out quickly, likely afraid she would become Lestat’s next victim.

“Now,” Lestat said, breathless, “Go ahead and be angry with me. Go on, I can take it.” He winked jokingly.

“I’m not going to shout at you, my love,” Louis replied, exasperated, “But I will say that was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life.”

“Fantastic! I’ll be sure to do it much more, then!”

“Please don’t—”

“—I just ask that you’ll be less patient with me in the future, darling.”

“Lestat, if you could please calm yourself—”

“—You’re right, actually. We’re all fired up now. I think we should take a shower to cool down, hmm?” He gave Louis another wink and moved closer to his face.

Louis worried he would never get a chance to ask him about moving out, and at this point, he wondered if he should bring him at all.

* * *

Thankfully, not all of Lestat’s impromptu dancing fits were as intense. Sometimes he would even ask Louis politely.

One instance of this was, one night, when Louis was at his desk, scratching Sandy behind her ear, he heard Lestat come through the door, humming pleasantly. Louis greeted him warmly, but didn’t turn his gaze from the cat.

Lestat did not reply, only continued to hum to himself as he turned on the stereo. Louis could hear him dropping the needle onto a record, then the subsequent cry of the orchestra’s string section. It was a waltz, and it made Louis remember learning to dance it with Claudia while in Paris. Her little feet perched on his, his giant, dramatic steps managing to get a smile out of her. He wondered if Lestat knew the waltz.

He felt a hand on his shoulder that slowly moved down the length of his upper arm. “Dance with me?” Lestat whispered in his ear.

“Only if you’d ask me properly,” was Louis’ reply. He turned to face Lestat and waved his hand toward him, “Go on.”

A blush spread across Lestat’s face and he looked down. He hesitated for a second or two before muttering, “May I have this dance?”

“That’s certainly not the confident Lestat  _ I  _ know. You’re acting like a schoolboy with a crush.”

“Well,” said Lestat, his usual vivacity returning, “I happen to have a crush on a very handsome boy.” He took Louis’ hand and helped him out of his seat, striding across the room as he did in the 18th century: suave, graceful. He then turned and faced him, putting his left hand on Louis’ shoulder, the other holding onto his hand. Of course he wanted Louis to lead.

Louis started to waltz, doing his best to remember its path. “Are you going to put little love notes in my coat pocket again? You used to think you were so stealthy.”

“You saw me?” Lestat scoffed, amused.

“No, Claudia did. She told me you told her not to tell me.”

Lestat gasped and looked up at her portrait. “Little traitor,” He playfully sneered.

His little love letters were a weekly occurrence back in New Orleans. They appeared in his coat pockets once or twice a week without fail, even if they were arguing. They varied thematically, some being poetic (“I don’t need the Mississippi when I see it in your eyes each night, my love. x”), others simply adorable (“Claudia told me that it’s ‘icky’ when I kiss you. We should kiss more often. x”), and some, just plain vulgar (“You look ravishing tonight. Kindly bend me over your writing desk sometime. xx love you”).

The letters were so regular that he would still feel for them in his pockets, even after he and Claudia left America. Even when he was exploring Europe with Armand. Even when roaming the streets of New Orleans and San Francisco, alone. It was a muscle memory, always met with melancholy and eventual guilt. He had kept these letters too, tucked away in an old hatbox, mixed in with other miscellaneous letters, notices, et cetera. He never looked over them, never even acknowledged them. He refused to let this dampen his mood tonight, however. He had his Lestat back. All was well and forgiven.

“Maybe I should start doing that again,” Lestat mused as he briefly stumbled over Louis’ feet.

“Ooh, careful,” Louis said, then addressed the subject once more, “What, write me love letters? You already vandalize my books.”

“True, but I know you’d like to see them again. You always did.”

“How should you know what I like and don’t like?”

“I know plenty! We’re practically married, you know.”

Louis scoffed playfully, “‘Married’ is a strong word, don’t you think?” It was certainly something he hadn’t thought of, but they did live like they were all those years ago, and they acted towards each other the way a husband and wife would. It made him think again about the apartment Jesse and Gabrielle shared. He decided now would be a good time to bring it up. “We don’t even have our own place.”

“That we don’t, you’re right,” Lestat seemed pensive, as if he had just realized it. He quickly regained composure and hummed, “What, afraid your screams are too loud?”

Louis blushed violently and lost his footing for a moment. “You’re the screamer, Lestat,” He mumbled, his eyes darting to and fro as if someone could be watching them. “And no, it’s not just that.”

“I thought you didn’t like to travel anymore. I thought you said you had seen everything.”

“Not with you.”

Lestat’s face twitched, a grin betraying his cool look. His eyes flickered, as if a spark had ignited their gray ombre. Louis continued, “Come on, let’s go live somewhere else. At least for a few months out of the year.”

The grin won over Lestat’s face, and then his knees seemed to give out for a second or two. Louis caught him before their rhythm was thrown off. He was gripping him, holding him close to his chest. Then Lestat rested his head on Louis’ shoulder, beginning to giggle. “Yes, yes please!” He cried, “I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, but I was afraid you’d say no! Or break up with me…or something…”

Break up with him? Break up? With what they had, they could never do something so common as “break up”. Louis couldn’t even use a term like “boyfriend” to describe Lestat. They went out on dates, they made love, they kissed each other goodnight, as boyfriends would do, but the love shared between them could never be chalked up to “dating”. A love older than two human lifetimes could never “break up”. And over a simple disagreement, no less!

Louis reassured him of this. “I’m insulted you would even entertain the thought. You will never be free of me, not if I can help it.” He squeezed Lestat’s waist and hand as tight as he could without hurting him. He knew it wouldn’t completely assuage his anxieties, but he hoped it helped.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, it’s alright, my love.”

Louis heard Lestat begin to say “I’m sorry” once more, but he stopped himself. He only sighed and smiled again, relaxing against Louis’ shoulder.

“So, where would you like to go?” Louis half-whispered.

Lestat was silent for a moment. Louis wondered if he was lost in thought, or simply didn’t care.

“I want to marry you.”

A jolt ran down Louis’ spine. “Pardon?” He finally said.

Lestat slowly lifted his head to meet his gaze. “You heard me. I said I want to marry you.”

“Didn’t…didn’t you say we were already ‘practically’ married?”

“I want it properly.”

Louis sighed. Lestat’s tone was dead serious, his eyes glistening with intent. He never saw the need for marriage between them, even if they  _ could _ be legally wed.

“Lestat, you know we can’t—”

“I don’t care. Marry me, please,” Lestat’s voice shook and broke, “Please,  _ please _ marry me. You mean everything to me…please.”

“Yes,” Was Louis’ answer. It surprised even him. All logic and analytical thinking had left him. His pride and his values failed. All that was left was his heart. And he heard his heart say, “Yes,” again.

He realized he was far too old to worry about legitimacy and legality. Too humbled to think himself above marriage. And all that mattered was that he was going to be Lestat’s husband. Wed to the man who was now laughing with tears in his eyes and spinning around on their carpet. All that mattered was that he would soon spend the rest of eternity with a gold band around his ring finger.

So what if it didn’t mean much? So what if it was only a few fancy words and a piece of paper? It meant the world to Lestat. And saying “I do” alongside him would mean the world to Louis.

The song was coming to an end. Louis twirled Lestat, his yellow curls fanning out in a lovely spiral. He pulled Lestat back in and kissed him, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. “May I have the next dance?” He mused as he pulled away.

Lestat blushed, and looked down once more. He seemed like he couldn’t speak for sheer uncharacteristic bashfulness. Perhaps he was taken aback by Louis’ subtle dominance.

“Quickly now, before I change my mind,” Louis teased.

Lestat rolled his eyes and nodded excitedly. And they danced until they were out of breath and their feet were sore from all the abuse they received. Later that night, as they were preparing to sleep for the day, Louis asked him that they keep their engagement secret, at least for the time being.

Naturally, Lestat would do no such thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was...a lot of fun to write. And I think it’s about time these two finally got married since A**e R*ce won’t give us what we want. Packed this chapter full of fluff since the last one wasn’t all that fluffy. I hope you’ll stay tuned for the final chapter, I’m so grateful for all of my readers. See you soon💕


End file.
